


An unlikely couple

by kinkmerighthererightnow



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Alpha-dominated society, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Dark Setting, I hope, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Omega John, Omega Purists, Omega Verse, Original biology, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parentlock, Past Rape/Non-con, Pining Sherlock, References to Depression, Slow Burn, but that's about it, darkfic?, multiple pregnancy, not an actual darkfic, parenting, unless I don't know what a darkfic really is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2018-07-21 17:47:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7397344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinkmerighthererightnow/pseuds/kinkmerighthererightnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an Alpha-dominated society, Omegas are nothing but objects, status symbols and breeding machines. New laws often have a habit of not being followed quite as quickly as should be. Omega auction houses were, finally, made illegal, but the underground world always finds its ways. Ironic, really, that Sherlock Holmes should find himself a companion in just such a place he is working to shut down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I should stop starting new works, seriously.
> 
> This has been going 'round in my head for quiiiiite a while now. Well, the concept of it has, but I've only now worked out the mechanics I needed to set the story off. I'm still a bit skeptical about how well the later parts of the story will be taken by anyone, as I am absolutely sure they will be nothing but a kink-fest I'll be throwing for myself.. Then again, I don't think I'm the only one with these kinks and someone might still find it mild what's going to come.. or now, I mean, I never know where Sherlock and John will take these stories - it's pretty much not in my hands *rolls eyes*
> 
> Anyway, let's start it off the way it's intended: platonic and crime-oriented.  
> I do hope you'll enjoy it.
> 
> I am particularly proud of this chapter for the deductions, especially when it includes some aspects of my entire take on the Omegaverse. (basically, all my Omegaverse stories follow the same rules of biology, so I'm just dropping information here and there throughout all my works and series'. I'm click bait like that ;P )
> 
> Enough from me now!  
> Enjoy :)

Currently, they were looking at “Item 341”, a very young Omega, with innocent green eyes and a silent acknowledgement of his defeat. “He is an Omega of high ranks, well bred and nothing, if not a good house-omega.” The guide continued talking, spitting out information that was this poor soul's life. They were kept in here like animals in a zoo.   
It was about time he got what he needed.  
“If you'll step right over here, you can see Item 339,” Sherlock followed the group of Alphas to next showcase. Item 339 was laying on a 'bed', surrounded by four glass walls, like all the other auction Omegas, only he had even less space to move, hindered by a large belly. “He is an Omega Purist and therefore one of the rare 4% of the earth's population. An average Omega Purist, or short 'OP', usually holds a minimum of two litters at a time, that never consist of any less than two pups! As of now, this OP is carrying two litters with a total of five pups, currently five months along – an optimal breeder!”  
  
“Why is he here?” Sherlock asked. He'd been quiet during the entire tour, observing, listening. The guide and the other Alphas, which Sherlock could clearly see were more than interested in this omega speciality, looked at him, flabbergasted. “Well, as you say: he is rare and basically an Alpha's every dream. The fact that his number is lower than that of the last one you showed to us, but being placed _after_ said higher number implies that he's been here _before_ that other one, but apparently came back to you only recently, as you haven't had the chance to rearrange their order yet. An Omega this desirable and who's been here for a long enough time to be bought _and_ given back again, must have something about him that's put the last Alpha off quite badly. Needless to say that you wouldn't be showcasing him carrying while trying to sell him to Alphas, unless you were very desperate.” Sherlock analysed, giving the guide a hard look.  
  
She crumbled under his observations. “Er, yes. He has, in fact, been here for two years now, getting bought and being brought back not long after. He is not, as you could say, a well-bred Omega and has very much a strong will of his own. The Alphas are usually confident that they can tame him, but are disappointed when he's already pregnant again.” the Beta guide informed the group with a hopeless sigh.   
  
Sherlock, meanwhile had caught the Omega's gaze and found himself intrigued by their depth and a strength so unusual for Omegas. Item 339 raised his hand curiously, laying it against the glass. Sherlock regarded the absurdly-big-for-5-months-pregnant Omega for just a moment before mirroring his gesture and placing his own longer, thinner hand against his side of the transparent barrier. Immediately a shock rang through him like an electric current, having him jerk his hand back in surprise, only to find that the Omega had reacted the same. Again, knowing of the potential consequences, they repeated their movements, not jumping back this time, but letting the energy run through them. It was strangely magnetic. “I'll take him.” Sherlock suddenly declared, interrupting the other customers' heated discussions over such an unacceptable item.   
  
The tour guide smiled brightly, if still surprised. “Sure! Just take down the number and pay for him at the end of our tour! Now, if you'll follow me further..” Sherlock stayed behind for a moment, looking the Omega up and down before moving to follow the group. He had an actual reason to be here after all.  
  
  
“Item 339 to the desk!” was ordered over the speakers in the facility and Sherlock kept watching the man behind the desk as they waited for his Omega to be brought out. The Beta, in return turned a little fidgety under Sherlock's gaze.  
  
He could smell the Omega before he even entered the room and turned around just in time to see the man being given an unnecessary shove so that he stumbled in, even though he hadn't seemed to be objecting or fighting before. It took him a moment to balance himself again to not fall, which, admittedly, promised to be a difficult task with the big belly he was manoeuvring around. Sherlock, not expecting the house to provide any real clothing to the man, took off his coat and draped it around the Omega's shoulders. As the smaller man looked up at him in surprise, Sherlock moved to open the knotted rope that was tying the Omega's hands together, getting a closer look at the garment he was wearing. It was really nothing more than a filthy old robe, barely long enough to cover his genitals where it was drawn up by the large belly. As soon as the rope was untied, Sherlock helped him put on the coat properly. The sleeves, of course, were much too long for him and the buttons barely fastened around his middle, but Sherlock could tell the Omega was grateful for the offered modesty. The Alpha lay his hand between the Omega's shoulder blades and gently nudged him to guide him outside, not giving any of the present employees a second look.  
Once they were outside and waiting for a cab to drive past, Sherlock looked at his Omega again. “What's your name?”  
  
“John.” the man answered, keeping his eyes fixed on the street before them. They fell silent immediately after that, until they were driving to Sherlock's flat. “You know, clever as you may be, you'll be bringing me back in about 5 months. Why even bother paying, there are no refunds.”  
  
“How did you know I was clever?” Sherlock asked.  
  
John shrugged. “I can read lips. Saw you questioning the guide, working out why I was there. You'll bring me back sooner or later. I'm not what you're looking for.”  
  
Sherlock took a deep, preparing breath. “You were soldier, an army doctor, in fact.” he began, John's head instantly snapping to look at him. “The way you hold yourself, even now, suggests a pride outliving the humility you feel over being an auction Omega. So, it must be a pride and posture acquired with lots of discipline and connected to hard work – soldier. But you are also sensitive enough to know to pick your fights and protect your pups and, while that is probably true for most Omegas, it isn't as self-evident for Omegas who have served, needless to say that Omegas are rarely ever allowed to enter the army anyway, so it was unlikely you held a high rank or were much in battle. Additionally, I could see from your hand, when you held it against the glass, that it wasn't just lightly shaking, tremor I suppose, but there were also little cuts on it, the clean kind a scalpel could leave. So, you are, or at least were, a surgeon, deployed after being wounded and developing a tremor that rendered you useless to your profession. Simple.”  
  
Sherlock waited for the offended reply, but when it didn't come, he looked over at his Omega, giving him a very stunned expression. “That was amazing.” he breathed and, instantly, Sherlock felt out of place, frowning, searching John's face for a lie that wasn't there.  
  
“You think so?”  
  
“Of course. Of course, it was extraordinary. Quite extraordinary.” The Omega sounded baffled, but almost equally amazed. “ _Why_ did you buy me?”  
  
“I wasn't there searching for a mate.” Sherlock informed, leaving the Omega no less clueless.   
  
“Then why were you there?” John pushed, equally intrigued and worried by this new information.  
  
“I am working a case.”  
  
John looked at him, waiting for further elaboration. “A 'case'?”  
  
“For the police, yes.”  
  
John looked him up and down. Sure, the Alpha was dressed smartly and he certainly had the makings of a good detective for the Scotland Yard, but he wouldn't have just walked through there, much less actually bought an Omega if he were police. “You're not a detective.”  
  
“I'm a _consulting_ detective. Only one in the world; I invented the job.”  
  
The Alpha's arrogance was nearly tangible in the air, but John was curious, may as well let him boast. “What does that mean?”  
  
“Means when the police are out of their depths, which is always, they consult me.”  
  
“The police don't consult amateurs!” John laughed at the absurdity of the people's safety relying on a man who wasn't even trained for that job. Then he considered his own situation and how the police hadn't protected him from that.   
  
Then he realised what he'd just said, that _he_ , and _Omega_ , had just insulted an _Alpha_. Sherlock merely spared him a sidelong glance and John was already seeing himself back in that glass cage. Surprisingly, the next thing Sherlock said was not 'turn the cab around'. “What about your brother?” the Alpha's deep voice rumbled and John, yet again surprised by Sherlock's kindness, looked up at him in irritation.  
  
“Sorry?” was all he could ask, not understanding where Sherlock was going that moment.  
  
“Well, you are an Omega in his thirties, unlikely you don't have any siblings, even more so regarding the fact that you're actually an Omega Purist – that genetic phenomenon doesn't occur without at least one Alpha or Beta twin, who'd be basically just the remnants of your secondary gender chromosomes, but he would have been able to keep you from the auction house, why not ask him for help?” Sherlock ended on the question, looking John up and down. “Ah, inherited some bad habits, did he? An Alpha, then. Got into a fist-fight one too many times? Or maybe you liked his Omega; maybe you don't like his drinking?”  
  
John felt his mouth hanging open. He blinked in rapid succession. “How could you _possibly_ know that?!”  
  
“Shot in the dark, good one, though. Your reaction to your brother being mentioned. When I just talked about there being a sibling, you didn't show much of a reaction because it was a logical assumption, going with biology. However when I mentioned his being either a Beta or an Alpha, you clenched your hand, a habit of trying to suppress the tremor, so your brother's gender puts you into stress. You must have an alpha parent or you couldn't be a Purist, but you're generally used to being around Alphas because of the auction house, so it must be a problem with an alpha family member. However a twin-sibling would never hurt their own twin, so the association must be with your alpha parent – abusive alpha parent. Alpha children are a very likely to pick up on their parents' behaviour, so your brother grew up to be quite aggressive, probably a drinker and while he's never attacked you, you must have seen him attack someone – an omega partner I presume. You aren't scared of him; you know he wouldn't hurt you, but you disapprove of the way he treats other Omegas. You're an Omega Purist, but you're also a soldier. You wouldn't betray your pride by seeking out an Alpha's help, much less one who abuses other Omegas. So, you see, you were right.”  
  
It took John a moment to realise he'd stopped breathing over the rapid flow of deductions. Then it took him another to take a deep breath. “ _I_ was right?”  
  
“The police don't consult amateurs.” Sherlock answered arrogantly, looking at John, pleased with himself.  
  
“Well.” John said, for lack of more intelligent words. “That was _fantastic_!” he could feel himself breathing a little harder, as if he were the one who'd just spoken a solid minute without taking a single breath.  
  
“That's not what people normally say.” Sherlock admitted.  
  
“What do people normally say?”  
  
“Piss off.” the Alpha supplied. Their eyes met briefly and John began to laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. He could imagine that. People were very sensitive about their lives and secrets and John would be, too, if he didn't saw that smile on Sherlock's face. He was all hard features and cold stares, but give him just a little bit of kindness and he seemed to melt inside your hand. John couldn't take this analysis of his life as a threat. “Did I get something wrong?”  
  
John looked at the Alpha, still pleased with himself, but there was also a bit of a challenge in his eyes. “I did serve as an army doctor in Afghanistan. I took a bullet to the shoulder and got sent back. Harry and I don't get on; never have really. Harry is a drinker and has recently kicked out his wife – quite literally.”  
  
“I got everything right? I didn't expect to be right about everything.”  
  
“Harry is short for Harriet.” John added, suppressing a small grin.  
  
Sherlock sank into a sort of freeze, before his shoulders slouched and he shook his head. “Harry is your _sister_!” he cursed, very obviously angry at his mistake. “Sister. There's always something.” the Alpha growled.  
  
John, fond of the Alpha's human touch after that inhuman display of intelligence, rubbed his belly idly. He looked much more appropriate inside a cab, Sherlock thought. Needless to say, he fit better in one as well. The Omega pondered his new situation for a moment, the Alpha's scent crawling up his nostrils from where his long coat bunched up around his chest. He'd popped some of the buttons open to avoid the fabric constricting his belly in a sitting position. He like the Alpha's scent. It was calm and sort of balanced, not heated and aggressive, like the ones before him had been. “Why did you buy me?” he finally asked again.  
  
“For the same reason you wanted me to buy you.”   
It sounded as much like a not-answer as the evasion Sherlock had used before, but, actually, John understood it. He knew exactly what he meant.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of questions are asked. John finds himself in conflict with not only himself and the general society.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so. The response to the first chapter was so massive (for my standards), that it kind of frightened me and I instantly started on the second one.  
> However, what worried me in particular, was the recurring theme of people taking this to be a darkfic. This is not a darkfic. Unless I don't actually know what a darkfic really is (which is entirely possible).  
> Anyone hoping for some dark!Sherlock or non-con/rape between the two, will be disappointed. That was never my plan and will not happen in this fic! I'm sorry to have potentially mislead you in that way.  
> Sherlock is rather representing light in this rather dark world, while keeping his grey-zone character.  
> Also, this fic was aimed to become a pregnancy-kink-fic towards the later chapters.  
> I have been commissioned over on tumblr to actually write a slave!Sherlock darkfic, which I've already agreed to and am currently awaiting ideas for. If that's what you hoped for in this story, you might want to wait for that fic.. Although, I'd, of course, be very happy if you kept reading this fic, should it still be you kind of thing!
> 
> I would say "I hope chapter 2 shines more light on all that," but after writing this, I do see where you all came from talking about a darkfic..

“Upstairs is another bedroom. You can take that. If you need any furniture, just tell me.” Sherlock said nearly in passing, waving his toward the ceiling as he started about, rummaging through a carton as if in search of something.  
  
John, hanging up Sherlock's coat on the door, frowned in question. “I'm not going to sleep with you?” he asked, taking the time for Sherlock to answer to look around the sitting room he had just been lead into. It was positively **littered** with crates and cartons. Sherlock had mentioned that he'd only just moved in, but in addition to everything that was already inside the room, John wondered how the Alpha planned to fit all of this stuff in. He was suddenly very glad he had virtually no belongings of his own.  
  
“I hate to repeat myself, John.” Sherlock said in a warning tone, but not one that showed aggressiveness. Instead, it was one John found quite endearing, like a petulant child, striving to be taking seriously by the adults.  
  
He smiled, most of all, because Sherlock was calling him by his name. No one had ever done that since he'd returned from Afghanistan. He was only ever called Item 339 or anything ranging from You to Bitch. He felt very valid. “I'm going to take a look at the other room, yeah?” John asked. The only reply he got was a distracted humming sound that told him Sherlock hadn't even been listening. It was a different kind of being ignored though. Sherlock wasn't dismissing him because he was just his Omega, but because he seemed absolutely absorbed by the notes he'd finally produced out of a crate. It was all very simple, typical alpha behaviour, but at the same time, it was so different from what John was used to. Just small things, but they meant the world to him already.  
He listened to the noises the wooden stairs made as he held the banister tightly, slowly making his way another floor up. When he arrived panting, he was glad to find a bed already in the room and immediately used the opportunity to sit down on it. Catching his breath, he looked around. The room was a little bleak and quite different from what downstairs looked like. The wallpaper was simple and white, while the ceiling was covered in wood panels, as was once fashion. John neither liked nor disliked that; he was just glad he was getting his very own room, with a bed and a closet that he couldn't even fill. He wasn't sure this was a luxury he'd keep for long, but somehow he knew Sherlock was different. Apart from the lack of interest Sherlock seemed to have for him, he was had a feeling of belonging around Sherlock and he was certain that the Alpha felt the same.  
He leaned back a little, hand resting on his belly, eyes closed and just breathed for a moment. This wasn't the first time an Alpha had had an interest in him; in fact, he'd been at six different Alpha's houses, each of them impregnating him over the course of sometimes mere weeks that he'd stayed there. Then again, getting an Omega Purist pregnant was probably the least difficult task for a virile Alpha, even outside of a heat. After all, that had been the reason they'd bought him in the end, only to throw him away when they couldn't stand him any more. The current litters were from two different Alphas, one of them having been just a servant of the house. John may be a fighter, but he knew even a trained soldier like him couldn't fight off an Alpha in rut. Needless to say they were both thrown out of the house when his Alpha noticed. He guessed he should just be glad none of them had ever tried to bond him because he was sure they wouldn't have cared for an easy dissolving of it, instead leaving him to the cruel method he'd seen the auction house do on two or three other Omegas.  
He jerked his head to get those memories off his mind. Finding himself back inside a safe room, big and, incredibly, his own, calmed him, to say the least. He looked down at his swollen belly, gave it a few loving caresses. Say what you want, but John could never not love any of the pups he was carrying, even though they had never been conceived willingly on his part. After a moment, he paused, looking straight ahead, contemplating. May as well try, he figured, pushing himself up with a grunt. The risk was no greater than usual: he was either kept or brought back.  
Making his way downstairs again, he found Sherlock in one of the two armchairs, knees drawn up on the anthracite leather, hands steepled under his chin.  
John took the seat opposite him, sitting still, waiting for the Alpha to acknowledge his presence.  
  
Sherlock, whilst already risen out of his mind palace, remained in his position, not reacting to John, not because he didn't want to speak to him, but because he wanted the Omega to initiate the conversation. After a while, John cleared his throat carefully. It would have to do, Sherlock thought and opened his eyes to look at him, but still not speaking. He looked at John with a clear expression of expectation. John turned his head slightly as if checking Sherlock wasn't addressing someone else. Eventually, though, John did speak. “I, er... can I ask you a question?”  
  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. “You have already asked me a handful of questions, why would I not grant you permission now?”  
  
“I, uh.. Sorry.” the Omega replied, lowering his eyes in submission and as a peace offering that wasn't needed. “I just.. Are you going to keep me?”  
  
“I just bought you.” Sherlock argued. And John could only agree that it was a logical conclusion.  
  
“You said you work for the police. Are you working on shutting the auction house down?” John asked. Sherlock merely nodded once. “So, when that happens, you can let me go without risk of me being caught again.” the Omega remarked.  
  
Sherlock tilted his head. “Do you feel like I am keeping you captive?”  
  
“Well.. you just bought me.” John repeated, dumbfounded.  
  
Sherlock sighed and began to speak slowly, as if greatly annoyed. “As I do believe I have mentioned before, I was not intending to buy an Omega. I am _not_ looking for a mate. I don't _want_ a mate.” His tone was very clipped, almost forcing John to make himself smaller.  
  
It only confused him more. “But then why am I here? I don't understand..” Why pay a fortune for him if he didn't want him?  
  
Sherlock was clearly irked by these questions. Something about them seemed to bother him. John would have liked to know what it was, so maybe he could ask without agitating the Alpha. “Can't I just have someone sharing my flat?”  
  
“But I'm an Omega!” John argued. It was absurd, really. An Alpha having an argument with an Omega. It wasn't unheard of, of course, but usually it was in the general context of bonds being dissolved or just straight murders.  
  
Sherlock seemed unimpressed by these concerns. “I am aware.”  
  
“But Alphas don't just go share flats with Omegas!” He started to feel ridiculous. He wasn't supposed to contradict an Alpha and still, here he was, reasoning with Sherlock about his own issues.  
  
Sherlock's counter-argument was simple, but heavy. “Not every Alpha in our society is a sexist, John. Times are changing.”  
  
John took a very short time to think about that. He knew that was true, but, surely, times didn't change this quickly. People were just teaching their children these new things. Their generation was still raised by the old standards, equality having been nothing more than a dream no one dared to utter in public.“Why are you being so kind to me?”  
  
“I'm not being any more kind to you than I would anyone else I'd offer to share my flat.” The Alpha replied, becoming increasingly annoyed at their discussion.  
  
“But I'm not _anyone else_!” John finally shouted. Realising his slip-up, he lowered his head, seeking forgiveness from the Alpha. “I'm an Omega.”  
  
“An Omega Purist, to be precise, yes.” Sherlock add nonchalantly, though the way he was looking at John had shifted. He still didn't look unkind. “Don't put up pretence apology where you don't honestly feel sorry. You are free to leave at any time, but I would advice you to wait until I have dismantled the auction society.” the Alpha concluded smoothly, standing up just as the doorbell rang, but instead of going to open it, Sherlock jotted down some notes on a piece of paper and folded it. Seconds later steps on the stairs became audible, even and steady. John turned around in the red armchair to see a tall man appear in the doorway. He was the same height as Sherlock, though older than him, but the cold, blue eyes were about the same. The visitor eyed him with the same analytical stare that Sherlock seemed to be applying constantly and while it was utterly emotionless, it bore no resentment. The new Alpha looked vastly superior, not because of his gender, but because of his almost tangible intellect. John dared to think this man was even cleverer than Sherlock, who was already impressive beyond fiction. Another person entered the room, a female Omega. Her presence threw John off entirely. She was smartly dressed, carrying a bag that she put on the floor near the door and pulled out a smartphone. She began tapping away on it, seemingly ignoring the rest of the room, even the Alpha, who John assumed was her employer, as he couldn't smell an intermingling of their scents like a bond would create. He could barely grasp the concept of her rudeness in the face of _two_ Alphas. Both of which did not seem to care in the least.  
John looked back over at them just in time to see Sherlock handing the other man the note he'd written down just upon his arrival, accompanied by the simple order “leave.”  
The older Alpha, whose brown hair had a clear red shimmer to it, tilted his head, raising an eyebrow and smirking in such an arrogant way, John wanted to lash out at him for, not only intruding (though Sherlock had clearly expected him), but additionally for his and his assistant's horrendously pretentious behaviour in Sherlock's home.  
Sherlock just rolled his eyes and growled in annoyance.  
  
“Everything you requested is inside the bag. I'll be sure to send 'someone' in to gather more information. Inform me, if you find out _any_ more, understood?” the stranger said strictly.  
  
Sherlock, who'd let himself drop back into his leather armchair to wax his violin bow, looked back up sharply. “This is _my_ case.”  
  
The man clicked his tongue, sighing, like this was an old game. “I do not intend to take it from you, I am merely offering forces beyond your abilities.”  
  
“You're interfering.” Sherlock shot back, somehow managing to look no smaller than the man in his three-piece suit and overly posh grooming. “I ask you to locate _one_ residence and you plan on sending forces down to infiltrate it!”  
  
The Alpha merely raised his eyebrow at Sherlock's hissing, unimpressed. John could hear his blood rushing through his own ears at the tennis game of a dominance display. “By no means! That would ruin the entire operation, obviously. I am only making sure you stay in the clear.”  
  
“I did not ask you to.” Sherlock replied with a force that wasn't audible, but it was certainly perceptible. “I have been working this case for months, I will _not_ have you ruin my progress!” Suddenly, Sherlock got up, getting way into the other Alpha's personal space. “They aren't very careful, but they are quick and quiet. One wrong move and they will be out of reach for at least a couple of years! I am close, Mycroft. Just locate that residence and I will have them within a week.”  
  
There followed a silence in which they first stared at each other and then the other Alpha, Mycroft, looked down at John from the corner of his eye. He looked back at Sherlock before speaking again. “You have more than yourself to worry for now, Sherlock.” And just like that, Mycroft turned on his heel, leaving the flat, his PA right behind him, not sparing them a glance.  
  
John looked to Sherlock, who returned his glance, looking sour. “Who was that?” John asked, heart still pumping at a viscous speed, ready for a fight that was neither his, nor an appropriate one. Being oppressed after years in the military weren't doing good on his nerves.  
  
“That was my brother Mycroft. He has a habit of being a pain in the arse.” he said as he sat down and grabbed his violin.  
He was positioning it when he informed John further. “Look inside the bag, everything in there is now yours.”  
  
John frowned. He thought to himself, wondering why Sherlock's brother would be bringing _him_ stuff. Curiosity didn't make him wait long and he pushed himself out of the chair with some effort. It was a little too low for him in this state.  
He opened the bag and looked inside it. There were clothes inside, at least 10 different outfits, he estimated as he rifled through them, bent low, one hand against the wall to keep himself from falling over. He turned his head around to talk to Sherlock, but the man had taken to playing his instrument and seemed too deep into it to disturb. John sighed, looking back down at his... present? He grabbed the bag by the straps and lifted it. Unhealthy, he was aware, but he may as well try them on. Only he saw himself in a bit of a predicament when he, once again, faced the stairs leading to 'his' bedroom.  
Well, there was only one way up and if John Watson was anything, then he was thickheaded.  
Just on the landing between the two floors, John was huffing and puffing. He would have deemed it ridiculous, if there wasn't the constant reminder of his belly somewhere in his field of vision. He didn't even dare setting the bag down and taking a break. Once he _did_ make it upstairs, the Omega dropped the bag by the door, taking a moment before reaching inside again and retrieving a set of clothes. He lay them down on the bed and took a shirt in hand first. It was plain and sort of wine-coloured, but most of all, it looked shockingly expensive. He didn't recognise the brand, but just looking at the neat seams and feeling the texture of the fabric between his fingertips told him, that this was the most expensive piece of clothing he'd ever owned. He couldn't resist. He took of and threw away the gown from the auction house and wrapped himself in the shirt. It glid over his shoulders smoothly and, he noted with great fondness, buttoned all the way around his belly, the size of which seemed eccentric even to himself for just 5 months of pregnancy. He caressed the globe lovingly through the soft fabric as he spared a look into the mirror attached to one of the closet's doors. Licking his lips, he pulled out some pants and a pair of jeans from the stack on the bed, again just discarding the horrible cloth covering his genitals and rear, to replace it with the expensive clothes. The jeans had an elastic band sewn into them and John was gloating when he looked at himself in the mirror, feeling absolutely and utterly spoiled. Which was precisely what reminded him. These clothes weren't his. Even if they had been a present, they were far too nice and definitely too costly to accept. He needed to talk to Sherlock about them.  
They knew each other not even 3 hours and already, John felt like all they were doing was argue about conditions.  
With a bad feeling, he made his way back downstairs.  
Sherlock didn't cease his playing when he saw John, just looked him up and down, making a face resembling approval and concentrated on his bow again. So John just stood there, in borrowed clothes, feeling comfortable for the first time in two years and feeling misplaced all the same.  
  
The violin screeched as Sherlock made a jerky movement with his hand turned back to him, tense. “Can you shut up for a minute?!” he asked, more aggressively than necessary.  
  
John, out of habit, ducked. “I'm sorry.” he simply replied, not daring to contradict the Alpha.  
  
“And stop saying you're sorry!” Sherlock further demanded. John didn't know where all that suddenly came from but he stood down, arms wrapping around his belly protectively. The floor was practically buzzing with energy that seemed to flow out of Sherlock like an endless supply. Were John any other, he'd likely be scared of the Alpha. “There should have been a mobile phone in the bag. Did you find it?” Sherlock said, suddenly a lot more gentle, but still noticeably agitated by something John didn't know.  
  
“Uh, no, I didn't see anything.”  
  
“Well, he won't have forgotten it. It has my number already in it.” the Alpha said dismissively, putting down his instrument and digging out a pack of cigarettes from his dressing gown.  
  
John shifted, wanting to escape the nicotine before it was released, but also desiring to talk some more. “So, you ask your brother to bring these things for me?”  
  
Sherlock looked at him in irritation. “Of course I did! What did you think?”  
  
John shrugged. “You said you didn't want a mate.”  
  
“I also don't want a naked Omega running around my flat.” Sherlock stuck one of the cigarettes between his lips and lit it, sucking on the other end of the fag to encourage the fire. He blew out the first cloud of smoke with an expression of utter relief. It was beautiful on him, John thought, but the circumstances weren't quite as much to his liking. He moved to open a window sheepishly. Sherlock looked at him in irritation for a second until John turned back around to face him and realisation dawned on his face. “Ah.” was all the Alpha offered. He moved to the kitchen, opening the window there and leaning to guide the smoke outside, although annoyance clouded his features still.  
  
John, having followed him, sat down in one of the chairs around the table. “So, um.. About my pups..” the Omega began tentatively. Now was as good a time as any. He'd hoped Sherlock would pick up on his intentions, but he didn't answer yet. “I mean, I get you don't want me as your mate, but if you're buying me stuff, you seem to want me to stay at least. The other Alphas never let me keep the pups I had conceived from my previous owner and I'm kind of confused right now.. Do you want me to give them away? They aren't yours, but you don't want me to have yours either, right?”  
  
“As long as you don't expect me to care for them, you can do whatever you like with them. I conduct chemical experiments, however, so make sure they don't touch anything.” Sherlock replied, taking a drag and keeping the smoke in his mouth for a moment before blowing it out the window.  
  
“Yes. Of course.. Thank you.” And just like that, the conversation was shut down again. John still wasn't quite sure what he'd gotten himself into this time, but at least the conditions seemed an awful lot better than with any of the other Alphas. Sherlock wasn't hitting him for speaking without a direct order and he had yet to touch John in any way other than giving him his coat. Plus, he had his own room, which was plenty of space and the most he's ever had just to himself. He'd have to wait and see how it goes.  
  
A month later, the living room had been freed of all the boxes and was instead cluttered with sheets of paper and books everywhere. John didn't get it, but Sherlock swore there was a logical order to it all. The Omega was just glad that he was still there and accepted it all.  
In fact, two weeks after Sherlock had taken him home, the Alpha had shut down the auction house and a lot of its other locations and side-businesses as well. The papers called it an act of the government. The name 'Holmes' appeared not once in their stories.  
John had gotten to know the landlady, Mrs Hudson. She was a nice lady, an Alpha way past her menopause and as loving and caring as it ever got. Beside Sherlock and Mycroft, John had never met an Alpha even remotely treating an Omega anything akin to an equal, even the military had him masquerading as a Beta, and yet, the woman, who was an even older generation than himself, was talking to him in such a respectful way, he wanted to cry with joy. Then again, that might have been his hormones.  
Shortly after Sherlock had shut down the auction society, John had 'acquainted' with Mycroft further. That is, he was out shopping for groceries, when a black care rolled up next to him against the pavement. He hadn't thought anything of it until it started following his slow, heavy steps. He stopped and one of the doors was opened for him.  
He knew he shouldn't enter, he really did, but, honestly, the auction society was cracked and John was immensely bored. He didn't have a job and couldn't begin to hope to get one in his condition, and Sherlock, after solving the case and staying awake for what looked to John like _weeks_ , had gone to hibernate. So, really, against much better judgement, John had no choice unless he wanted to die of boredom. To his surprise, there was a familiar face sitting inside, tapping away at a mobile phone. It was the Omega Sherlock's brother had brought into Baker Street that first day John had been there. She was no less rude now than she had been two weeks before.  
“Hello.” John offered simply. Honestly, John wasn't much into the 'Omegas must stick together' mantra, but this woman's behaviour was plain disrespectful, borderline insulting. “I'm John.”  
  
“Yes, I know.” she said, continuing to tap away at her phone, her voice bearing the most professional smile John's ever heard.  
  
He nodded, less to agree with something and more for a lack of any other possible reaction. “What's your name then?”  
  
“Uh, Anthea.”  
  
“Is that your real name?” John doubted it and she confirmed his suspicion. “Any point in asking where I'm going?”  
  
She smiled again, finally granting him some eye contact. She was a really pretty woman. “None at all,” she said, then added “John” as an afterthought.  
  
They were silent from then on, but it didn't take long to reach their destination either way. John found himself waddling into an empty underground parking lot. It was dark and grey and in some places leaky. All in all, a rather dramatic setting. When he caught sight of Mycroft, he felt it sort of made sense. “I have a phone, you know. Considering you brought it to the flat, you really should know. I mean, very elegant with the car and your PA and all.. but you could have just phoned me. On my phone.”  
  
“When one tries to avoid Sherlock's attention, one learns to be discreet, hence this place. Your feet and back must be hurting you, please do take a seat.” Mycroft recited like a text he'd learned by heart, pointing his black umbrella at a chair John had walked past immediately, if not to show his spite.  
  
“I don't want to sit down.” John said firmly, not wanting to give Mycroft any more physical advantage than he already had; not to mention that he wanted to make it a point he didn't need caring for – not from an Alpha, not from anyone.  
  
Mycroft squinted a little, a smile spreading across his lips. John wasn't sure whether it was fondness or something more malicious. “You don't seem very afraid.”  
  
The Omega pursed his lips in mock consideration. “No offence, but you aren't really frightening.”  
  
“Ah, yes. The bravery of a soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think? Especially for an Omega such as yourself _and_ in your condition, not in the company of a trusted Alpha. Not many Alphas would like to be your friend.” Mycroft had this really patronising air about him and John could very well imagine where it had originated from.  
  
Nevertheless, John had better things to do than being cornered in such circumstances. He tilted his head to look around a little as he spoke. “Is there an actual point to this kidnapping or can I go home now? I've got some groceries that need cooling.”  
  
“What is your relationship with my brother?” Right. To the point, then. That was the kind of conversation John liked and could get into. What he didn't like, though, was Mycroft's tone. It was serious in a way, that only parents seemed to know, usually.  
  
“We're flatmates. We get along surprisingly well.” John noted. It was true, that was the base of their relationship.  
  
Mycroft didn't seem satisfied with that vague answer. “Do you intent to continue your association with him?”  
  
“Well, he did pay an unsavoury amount of money for me _and_ continues to provide me shelter, food and clothing. Seems a bit ungrateful to just leave now.” John argued, only half-mocking. He honestly felt indebted to Sherlock, which, as the Alpha had put it, was likely due to his 'Alpha-esque pride'. But he did seem to enjoy John's unwillingness to 'be an Omega'. John, in return, enjoyed it when Sherlock used these descriptors on him. While they weren't really complimenting, they meant a lot to the Omega. It made him feel like maybe, just maybe, they could actually dive into something like a friendship. Speaking of the devil, John's phone rang with a message from Sherlock.  
  
“I do hope I'm not keeping you two apart.” Mycroft offered sarcastically after John had been reading and re-reading the text, pondering on the intention.  
  
“Not at all.” he replied in a distracted way, pocketing his phone again, message and answer pushed to the back of his head for now.  
  
Mycroft immediately picked up on John's attention shifting back to him and resumed his inquiry. “What are your intentions?”  
  
John, again, not deeming Mycroft a party to share much with, listed the most obvious steps to his future, with no small amount of sass.“Have the lot, get a job and start living like a human being again, I thought.”  
  
Unfortunately, John thought, that had been the perfect step stone for Mycroft.“I'd be happy to pay you a 'meaningful' sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way.”  
  
“Why?” It sounded fishy to John the moment the Alpha had opened his mouth. Such offers never came without terms. More importantly, they never came without terms that went against his morals.  
  
“Because you're not a wealthy man.”  
  
“In exchange for what?”  
  
“Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you'd feel uncomfortable with, just tell me what he's up to.” And there it was. John had already decided against it. No sum of money could make him betray his own ideals like that. He'd rather be indebted to Sherlock for the rest of his life than betray Sherlock's help by selling him out to anyone.  
  
He still wanted to get behind this. “Why?”  
  
Finally, Mycroft opened up, just a little bit, and his reply was evenly voiced and entirely serious. “Because I worry about him. Constantly.”  
  
“That's very brotherly of you.” John mocked. Wasn't that kind of what older siblings were supposed to do? Worry about their younger siblings? Furthermore, it was a weird way to show his concern. He had to get to the bottom of this. It was promising to be good. “Why ask me? Why not just ask him yourself? I get that you seem to have issues calling people on their phones, but you know where we live.”  
  
“Because in his mind I am his enemy. If you were to ask him, he'd probably say I'm his arch enemy. He does love to be dramatic.” Mycroft said, regarding the tip of his umbrella like he was absolutely done with Sherlock's shit.  
  
It was more than obvious the Alpha actually enjoyed it. “Well, thank God you're above all that.”  
  
Mycroft discarded that statement instantly. “I would, of course, prefer that my concern go unmentioned.” Simultaneously, John's phone chimed again.  
  
He read the new message from Sherlock and decided it was time to end this. He'd heard enough to be bored again and he'd made his decision some moments ago anyway. “No.”  
  
Mycroft seemed both surprised and unsurprised at the firm reply. “I haven't mentioned a figure.”  
  
“Don't bother.”  
  
Another smirk spread across the Alpha's face at that. Lovely, the patronising was back. “You're very loyal, very quickly.”  
  
“No, I'm not. I'm just not interested.” John disagreed and it wasn't a lie. He was, honest to God, not interested in such an offer, no matter the sum he could be promised.  
  
For a second, the Alpha looked as if he were defeated. Then he pulled a trump out of his jacket pocket. “Trust issues, it says here.” he mentioned, making sure to give John a clear view on the little notebook before opening it.  
  
He remembered that leather bind far too well. He knew that diagnosis far too well. He knew Mycroft was just trying to break his defences, but he couldn't help it. “What's that?”  
  
“Could it be that you decided to trust Sherlock of all people?”  
  
John swallowed. “Who says I trust him?” It was working far too well for John's liking, this mind game. He didn't know where Mycroft had gotten those notes, but he didn't want to go any further, either.  
  
“You don't strike me as the kind to make friends easily.” Mycroft was pressing all the right buttons at this point and he knew it.  
  
John went to shutting down. “Are we done?”  
  
“You tell me.” the Alpha answered very seriously, giving John the time to answer. John took it and turned, beginning his walk back to the black car.  
“I would advise you to stay away from him, but I can see from your left hand that's not going to happen.” He shouldn't. He shouldn't turn around. He should keep walking and not let Mycroft do this to him.  
  
Only his weakness being extreme defensiveness. “My what?” he asked, turning back around, jawline tight.  
  
“Show me.” Mycroft said with such self-confidence, John should have felt appalled. Yet, after a moment, he raised his dominant hand into view, unsure what point he was trying to prove any more. Maybe it was curiosity at this point.  
  
However, when the Alpha reached to touch the limb, he drew it back, feeling too vulnerable to allow the contact. “Don't.”  
  
Mycroft gave him a look that clearly repeated 'trust issues'. Somehow, that made John offer his hand up again. Mycroft took it between both of his, studying it. “Remarkable.” he finally concluded.  
  
John quickly drew his hand back again. “What is?”  
  
“Most people blunder round this city, and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock, you see the battlefield _._ You’ve seen it already, haven’t you?”  
  
“What’s wrong with my hand?”  
  
“You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand.” Mycroft concluded. John could merely nod at that; he already knew. “The psychoanalyst thought it was post-traumatic stress disorder. She thought you were haunted by memories of your military service.”  
  
John knew Mycroft had some sort of high rank, if perfect suits, sleek cars and personnel were any indication, but that didn't explain how he had access to legally confidential resources or how he'd even know about all the procedures John had been through. “Who the hell are you? How do you know that.” he didn't think he'd ever felt this vulnerable in all his life. This was more than just someone knowing his weaknesses. To him, this was so much more, and so much worse.  
  
Mycroft, however, seemed pleased. “We know better. She got it wrong. You're not haunted by the war, Dr. Watson. You _miss_ it.” The Alpha said, again, with such arrogance, John would have liked to punch his face for more than the intrusion on his life. When Mycroft leaned in a bit to whisper a “Welcome back.” at him, John felt as though he might throw up. This vulnerability was overwhelming to him. He felt like a target and Mycroft had hit the bullseye.  
He found himself unable to move when Mycroft was walking off, all his words clinging to him like bad omens. “Time to choose a side, Dr. Watson.”  
  
  
Now, another two weeks later, John sat in the red armchair, that had become 'his', six months pregnant, still thinking about everything Mycroft had said.  
He had never taken Mycroft's offer, naturally, but he hadn't told Sherlock either. It was bugging him, though. Sherlock's brother had been right. Right now, it was a little boring for John, but that was because there was virtually nothing for him to do as a pregnant Omega. But even just sitting around at home, having followed Sherlock's work on the case, it had been sort of thrilling. Most of the time, Sherlock seemed to have forgotten John was even there, talking more to the skull above the fireplace, but listening to the Alpha's train of thought, listing his deductions and conclusions – it had been intriguing. He had thrown in his own information here and there, which Sherlock had absorbed without questioning the source, but John wished he could have done more, become a bigger part in it. It had been his very own fate that had depended on that case after all. But at least he was now assured they were all 'taken care of'; those he'd got in contact with and a large number more from other auction houses.  
Sherlock seemed to be the only one not pleased with the result. He hadn't been able to get them all in time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any prompts or commissions for stories, or maybe even ideas for the slave!Sherlock fic I mentioned, please contact me via tumblr (http://kinkmerighthererightnow.tumblr.com/), or via email (kinkmerighthererightnow@gmail.com), or just in the comments below.  
> Any questions: same means of contacting me :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life goes on, Sherlock and John are two opposites that don't really attract each other. Whatever had been there when they'd first "met", it wasn't pulling them together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, I know, I don't care. Well, actually I do, but let's just pretend I don't. 
> 
> Surprisingly, I wasn't actually depressed writing this chapter. Funny, eh?  
> Oh, yes: new tag - TW: depressions

Sherlock shuffled into the living room, clothed in only a bedsheet and found John bustling around, quite efficiently for his state, at that. “What are you doing?”  
  
The Omega turned around from where he was stacking some paper on the desk. “Oh, er, I... Are you naked?” he asked, looking mildly disturbed.  
  
“No, I'm wearing a sheet. What are you doing?” The Alpha reinforced, sounding a tad annoyed that his question wasn't answered yet.  
  
John opened his mouth to reply, faltered, and began anew. “I'm just sorting through this stuff.”  
  
“My stuff.” Sherlock butted in.  
  
John stumbled over that. He'd always been expected to do housework and leaving a mess like the living room would usually have gotten him some punishment, and not of the sexy sort. “Oh.. Sorry, I-”  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned around. “Whatever. Give it a week or a good case and it will be the same again, I don't care.” he put on the kettle. He sounded like he did, in fact, care a lot. “Tea or coffee?”  
  
John, shoulders hanging, walked over to sit down in his chair, seeing no point in doing any more housework. “Neither, thanks. The caffeine?” he mentioned as a reminder.  
  
Sherlock paused where he was pulling out mugs from a cupboard. “Ah.” he placed one back on the shelf. “Well, help yourself to anything, then. Except my chemicals, obviously.”  
  
“Yeah, obviously.” John repeated very flatly. He absently stared into the dip in Sherlock's leather armchair.  
  
Sherlock, moments later, sat down in that same spot. He raised his mug to his lips, looked at John and sighed, lowering his coffee again. “Do not tell me you are feeling bad about this now.”  
  
“Okay, I won't tell you.” John replied dismissively. He felt bad, yes, but not for disobeying – without his knowing at that – but for being utterly useless. He was in his third trimester, he'd been here for nearly two months and so far all he had done was sit around, waddle around, be in Sherlock's way like an untrained dog that didn't know what was going on around him.  
  
Sherlock watched John's hands roam his belly almost defensively. “I don't get what you want from me, John. How else can I make you feel at home here?”  
  
John looked up at that, his expression unreadable. “Home?” he asked with a tone of disbelief to his voice. Sherlock kept eye-contact. John wasn't sure whether he'd really seen him nod lightly or if that was just a natural shift, but it was obvious Sherlock meant to confirm. “There really isn't a 'home' for me. Not for people like me. We get either kept against our will or passed on to the next sorry bastard. Family is home. I can't have one.”  
  
Sherlock, surprised by John's openness, but marking it as an act of hormonal overload, threw him a questioning look. “And what is 'family' in your opinion? Is it really necessary to have blood kin around you? Do people not call their friends their families?”  
  
“You're saying you're my friend, then?”  
  
“I'm just saying that 'home' can be anywhere you call it. My home is 221B; without my brother, without a mate, without children.”  
  
_but with you._  
  
“I want to go back to working when I've had these. Is that alright?” John asked, palming his middle for emphasis. That conversation had headed down a road he didn't care to pass at this time. Specifically Sherlock's last comment had set off something deeply unsettling in John. “If I earn my own money I might be able to afford my own flat, be out of your way.”  
  
Sherlock waved his hand sideways. “If that's what you wish to do.”  
Just as John nearly replied with a 'not really', Sherlock spoke again. “I suppose you will have a hard time finding work that pays well enough, though, Omegas barely earn enough to live anywhere near London, can't imagine the cut an OP has to face, even as a doctor.”  
  
“I will go back on suppressants. I can pass as an ordinary Omega that way. After all, that's how I got into the army.”  
  
“You _can_ just stay here, John. I can afford accommodating us both and, well, you have met Mycroft, he seems eager to keep you around me.”  
  
John's eyebrows drew together sharply. “He does?” When Sherlock only answered with a raised eyebrow, John continued. “I thought he didn't really like me.”  
  
“He was testing you.”  
  
“Hm.” the Omega grunted in reply. “Mind you, I can't say I'm a big fan of his. Not really someone who inspires trust in him.”  
  
Sherlock cocked his head, an amused smile playing on his lips. “You would know; trust issues and all.”  
  
John fixed him with an annoyed glare at first, but soon lost to his desire to giggle. It was true and it was odd. He'd never been one to joke about himself much, God knew how Sherlock got him to do so.

 

 

Sherlock had never told John exactly how he had worked around and managed to shut down the auctioning society that had held him. In general, Sherlock didn't share much of his work with him. He supposed it had to do with some sort of confidentiality, like the police didn't tell the press everything.  
He couldn't say he was hurt by this. After all, he'd just appeared in Sherlock's life and had nothing to do with his profession. That didn't mean that John would not have liked t be included. The Alpha's cases sounded like adventures and anyone knowing John, knew that the Omega desperately needed some of those. He was withering away in the flat. Eat, sleep, shower, repeat. He walked, yes, but the further his pregnancy got, the less he trusted himself to take walks. It wasn't so much that he couldn't move around easily any more – he was build to survive carrying large litters after all – but more that people's stares grew longer and more obvious every time he left the flat. While he could still walk appropriately, he couldn't run. Much less, he couldn't fight off hungry Alphas, and, right now, anyone looked like a predator to him. At times he wished Sherlock would claim him, even if just by rubbing his scent off on him and fucking him and leaving him to deal with himself after. At least then he knew his place. He'd never felt this vulnerable before.  
Sitting in the showcases, being fucked and ignored; it showed him who he was and what he was for. He knew the worst things that would be done to him.  
But with Sherlock not touching him at all, acting companionable without showing any further interest for his persona whatsoever, John felt lost and just wished and waited for something bad to happen, just so he would finally know.  
But nothing ever happened. Most of the time, they didn't even talk. It wasn't exactly unpleasant, in fact it felt quite easy. Still, John felt out of place.  
  
He grew increasingly lethargic, staying in, wasting away in front of the telly. He wouldn't eat if Mrs Hudson wouldn't be positively feeding him up. Mind you, he was grateful for that. He had been underweight when he'd moved in and, regarding the progression of his pregnancy, he could never catch up on his current ideal weight, but Sherlock's landlady and, as John viewed her, optional mother made a point out of keeping him and his unborn pups alive. He was getting chubby. He knew it would be visible once he'd given birth. He knew he was disgusting and he felt it: A lazy, stay at home Omega, not doing any house work, sitting and eating, watching crap telly all day long. He wanted Sherlock to throw him out. At least then he could be angry at someone else.  
  
Instead, Sherlock pointedly involved John in mundane things like breakfast and dinner (whether he ate some himself or not was irrelevant), offering him tea and coffee repeatedly, forgetting John was pregnant and couldn't have them, asking if he could buy a thing or two when he next went out shopping. And, most surprisingly, having clothes delivered by mail. The wardrobe in John's bedroom slowly began to fill up more and more. All clothes he would have bought for himself as well and the right sizes at that. He never had to worry about going to the shops, having himself measured and being pointed to clothes that looked like tents. The stuff Sherlock was having delivered for him seemed to be tailored perfectly to flatter his figure.

He felt guilty for not even giving them a chance to impress other people, wasting them on being worn in the flat. He was grateful, though, as he thought he would find the alternative process rather humiliating. He knew he looked like a beach ball and, while he didn't mind it himself much – he was very pregnant after all – people never viewed these things quite as simply. Especially Purists had a reputation of not being able to keep their legs shut and the fact that John was pregnant _and_ unbonded wouldn't really help him much.

  
  
John initially wanted to have his pups at the hospital, but when labour kicked in 3 weeks early, he was alone in the flat, in his bedroom, looking at photos in a sudden rush of nostalgia. He knew from experience he didn't have much time. Purist's birthing was a lot quicker than the average time a Beta took and he was all the way upstairs. It lately took him about ten minutes to reach the ground floor and with the pups shifting lower, limiting his mobility, he estimated another ten. He wouldn't be able to make it to the hospital after that and laying in the entrance of 221B while pushing out five babies really didn't sound very appealing. He grunted, standing up and gathering all the towels he had upstairs. With a lot of pulling and frustrated noises, he stripped his bed, throwing the first blanket over it before a contraction gripped him. He moaned in pain, curled in on himself a little and breathed through it. Once it was over, he continued throwing towels over his bed: bath towels, hand towels, wash cloths – no matter the size. It seemed a shame to soil these, undoubtedly, expensive cloths, but they were soft and absorbent and John had no time for materialistic thinking.  
He was just taking off his wet trousers as another contraction grabbed him right by the spine. He pressed a hand to his sagging belly, felt one of his pups stretch an elbow out to him.  
He focussed on his breathing and caressed the limb a little bit. Five minutes between them. This was going quicker than he'd expected.  
He laid down on the bed, positioning himself on his side as to not hinder the movement to his rear. He was so actively focussed on his breathing, he barely heard the front door open over the noises in his room. There was a churning, then his own suppressed moan, then Sherlock's voice. “JOHN?” the Alpha called out to him, he could faintly hear Mrs Hudson adding a “smells like labour, dear.”  
John wanted to laugh at her blatancy, but his abdominal muscles were so painfully clenched already, he couldn't. Sherlock came bounding up the stairs moments later, stopping in front of John's room without looking inside. “Are you alright?” he asked, not sounding very honestly worried, but then this was Sherlock, John knew he meant it.  
  
“Uh..” was all John could say, really, because he wasn't good, as one could imagine, but he was horrible either.  
  
“Mrs Hudson is preparing some warm water, towels and blankets. I assume she wants to assist you.” He paused. “Do you want me to stay or go away?”  
  
John thought about that, breathing more freely again. He'd never really thought about this. What _did_ he want Sherlock to do? “It's uh.. It's okay. You don't have to stay, I know you don't feel comfortable around these things.”  
  
Sherlock nodded to himself, a silent 'thank you'. He let it seep into his voice so John knew it was there as well. “Good luck, John.” and with that he was jumping downstairs again, presumably occupying the living area of the flat.  
  
He heard Mrs Hudson tut at him and she soon joined him, just in time. He rolled over to get up on his knees, his arms stretching out in front of him to brace himself against the wall. It was quick and fairly easy, just a lot of pain. Many Omegas often described giving birth as pleasurable as the pups pressed against their prostates. John thought that might be true if you're having one or two, but with five of them, it really felt more like scratching and violent punching than caressing.  
He was just glad Mrs Hudson was there to catch them and wrap them up in fluffy blankets after cleaning them off, clearing their orifices. He sighed happily when the last one was free, grabbed one of his towels and cleaned himself up lazily before shifting to sit back against the headboard. Mrs Hudson laid the pups out around him for him to pick up and imprint at his own pace. He whispered a soft 'thank you' at her and she smiled, patting his knee and swiftly left the room.  
  
He fell asleep surrounded by them about two hours later, his arms keeping them close to him protectively.

 

 

“They came very early.” Sherlock acknowledged the next morning over breakfast. “At least for what due date you told me.”  
  
“When they're ready, they're ready. Can't really hold them in..” John mused, biting into his toast.  
  
“Aren't you supposed to feed them?” the Alpha asked instantly, remembering that there actually were now five little human beings in this house.  
  
John made a noise of confirmation, chuckling a little. “Already done that. You don't feed them all day long! They're asleep now and, I pray to God, for most of the day as well. I'm knackered..” he complained, rubbing at his eyes for emphasis.  
  
Sherlock nodded, appearing clueless to the situation.  
  
“Hey, I know you said I could stay here, but I'll do my best to get out as quickly as possible, yeah? You don't have to pretend.”  
  
The Alpha frowned deeply at that. “Why would I pretend? I'm not pretending, John. Do with them whatever you like, just make sure they don't interfere with my work.”  
  
“You mean: make sure they don't annoy you.”  
  
“..Oh yes.” Sherlock replied as if he'd forgotten that babies could get loud and demanding.  
  
John smiled to himself as he continued to eat. “Well, don't worry. Purist children tend to scream less than ordinary ones. As long as their Omega is around, they will be content for the most part, occasionally asking for food or a nappy change, but fairly independent and can entertain each other. Once I've got a job, I'll get them into daycare and you won't hear from us until we're back, promise.” It didn't seem to change anything in Sherlock's expression, but then again, nothing ever seem to be able to.  
  
  
True to his word, John applied to various surgeries and hospitals all over London, sending them his letters via email just as he started consulting a doctor himself to start his journey for suppressants. Getting on the list when he was a young boy had been much easier; an OP in his mid-thirties put on suppressants after a two-year break in which he'd had multiple pregnancies and only five still with him – it wasn't really a safe case for prescriptions. He was, no doubt, expected to relapse at any moment, like the slut he was. Back with his old doctor, he'd had to agree to undergo examinations every week for the next month to keep track of his development. He just hoped they'd get there before his heat returned, which could be anywhere between one month to two months after his last pregnancy.  
  
As a result, he was rather tense in the flat, around Sherlock. Observing his babies, he could tell his scent was coming back from pregnant to fertile. It explained why the Alpha kept wrinkling his nose and considerably heightened the amount of experiments dedicated to identifying various perfumes, types of tobacco and even the decay of different animals, including a human hand, a cat's paw and a pig's foot. John had told him off for that one and it had disappeared, thankfully.  
Still, he couldn't fail to notice that Sherlock disapproved of their situation.

Fortunately, he wasn't showing any signs of heat by his fourth appointment yet, they reckoned it was because the pups had come so early and his body hadn't caught up all the way yet. He got the prescription. On his way back to the flat, John dropped in by a pharmacy and got his pills.  
  
Finally, relaxed, he arrived back, offering Sherlock a brief hello, but dashing right upstairs to where his pups lay in their cots. Emilia was stirring with his arrival and he stroked her cheek, picking her up before she could ask and holding her. His eyes fell closed as she gurgled quietly against his chest. He let his chin fall against her head and whispered to himself “getting there. Back on track, I promise I'll make it this time.” He then kissed the top of her head and directed his voice more towards her now. “We're going to get well. I won't leave you alone. Ever. You're my family.” _And family meant home.  
  
  
_ “You finally got the suppressants then?” Sherlock asked him over dinner, which John found peculiar, chatting wasn't normally in the Alpha's interest. Then again, he'd often asked John about medical stuff, perhaps he was just interested in his unusual biology.  
  
“Yeah,” he answered “but I haven't taken them yet.”  
  
“Oh, no,” Sherlock interrupted, “I mean because you are a lot more relaxed than you have been for the last three weeks. You seemed to be very annoyed and upset by something, figuring out it was your struggle to get back on the suppressants wasn't a big leap.” the Alpha said dismissively, shoving a forkful of chicken into his mouth.  
  
John nodded in understanding. “Yeah.. I'm not really a favourite patient to anyone. I'm just glad I got them before my cycle started up again. Don't really fancy a heat right now.” He smiled a little. Sherlock's lip twitched in response.  
  
“So-”  
  
“You want to know anything specific?” the Omega butted in. At Sherlock's confused look, John elaborated. “I thought you asked because you were interested in something. You're not usually very concerned for my... nature.”  
  
Sherlock failed to correct him on that statement. “No, I was just.. chatting. Meaning to ask whether you were still going for that whole _moving out_ plan.”  
  
John couldn't really pinpoint Sherlock's tone of voice. If he didn't know better, he'd say it had sounded like Sherlock thought the idea stupid.  
“Uh, yeah, well.. Might be a bit more difficult than I'd thought..” John admitted, fumbling. He'd never had to manage on his own before and he had to find that he'd underestimated certain aspects. Sherlock regarded him with an enquiring look. “Turns out I only get the first prescription for free; to see if the pills work for me, I suppose. Before, they were paid for by my insurance because I started on them when I was underage, but now.. I mean, I'll have to wait for my job interviews, of course, but having enough money left to pay for... accommodation.. I don't know. I might just be over-thinking. Don't mind me.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world is biased and John has difficulty finding his proper place in it. Luckily, Sherlock knows how to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm too much into this story. I'm sorry, but the entire concept and thought around it is just genius and I don't even know how to thank myself.  
> Going very ASiP here, so I hope my recap on the case in this universe isn't too boring for you ^^

“So, Mr John Watson. The OP..” the man across from him said aloud, like sharing his thoughts.  
  
John didn't like his tone of voice. “ _Doctor_ John Watson.” he corrected.  
  
The man, an Alpha, and by the smell of his shower gel, deodorant _and_ perfume a proud one, looked up at him in a mix of offence and disapproval. Patronising. “John H Watson, 36, male, Omega Purist,” he read aloud.  
  
John wouldn't usually pick a fight with an Alpha, but he could never resist those practically begging for it. Besides, he didn't seem like he had any intention of giving him the job anyway. “If you'll look just above my name, you'll see that it says Doctor and if you look further down in my CV, you'll find that it says 'trained at Barth's'. That statement about my sex is confidential and pulled out of my medical file, which you had no right to pull up.” he spat back, noticing himself how defensive he sounded.  
  
The Alpha's face was red. “Mr Wats-”  
  
“ _And_ I think you'll want to reconsider picking a fight with a Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, sir. Since you don't appear to have invited me for any reason other than to humiliate me with your sexism, I will be on my way now. Don't reply. I will break your nose.” he nearly whispered in his rage, pulling his jacket from the back of the chair and leaving the room, door left where it had swung wide open.  
  
  
30 minutes later, he was sitting back at 221B's kitchen table, mug of tea in front of him. Sherlock wasn't in and the pups were all sleeping fast. He was brooding silently.  
Until Mrs Hudson spotted him, that is. “John! Didn't you say you had a job interview?”  
  
John smiled unhappily even though she couldn't see his face. “Yeah, didn't go well.”  
  
“Honestly, I don't understand why you're making such a fuss about it. It's not like we're packing your things!” she tutted in amusement, sitting down across from him.  
  
“Well, no. But Sherlock has made it clear he doesn't want an Omega or children around the flat. He's done enough for me, I don't want to bother him any more.”  
  
“Bother him!” she shrieked in a laugh. “I haven't seen him this engaged before! He must really like you. I doubt he wants you to move out.”  
  
“Then why-”  
  
“Oh, you know how he is!” she waved her hand dismissively. “Always trying to seem mysterious and indifferent. No, no, John, he is fond of you.” she then sighed and continued talking as if all this was oh-so-clear. “I am glad he finally found someone. He was always so lonely, sulking and especially after his whole --- thing!” she expressed, adding a whispered “drugs” with a disapproving expression.

  
John raised his eyebrows in surprised. “Who, Sherlock?” he asked incredulously.  
  
Mrs Hudson nodded. “His brother helped him get through it, but mind you, there were times when I was worried about that boy. Not that I'm not always worried about him, dashing about, chasing murderers all on his own... No, it's good he has someone he can appreciate to have at the flat now.” she concluded, patting his arm and standing up. “I was just on my way up to feed the little ones when I found you here. Do you want to do it instead now?”  
  
John, who had been drifting out of reality with new information, old information and a certain sleepiness that his pups had less to do with that the past 15 years of his life, shook himself as her words registered and got up hastily. “Oh, er, ta! Thanks for looking after them while I was away, as well. Can't really afford daycare for them yet.” He smiled at her in a mildly apologetic way.  
  
“Oh, dear, there are help programs, you know. The government financially supports single parents, you don't have to shoulder it all on your own!” she tutted him, shaking her head at his ignorance. She didn't seem to realise that John was aware of such aid programs and, for lack of fitting words, retreated with another smile.  
  
He took the stairs quickly, entering the darkened room quietly. While much more independent, Purist pups tended to be more sensitive to light, so he kept his blinds mostly shut throughout the day. He didn't mind. As they still mainly slept, he spent little time in the room either way, using the time to set up his own independence instead. He knew they needed the peace and the space, bonding with each other as they went through this stage. He bent over Katherine's cot, stroke her chubby blushed cheek to wake her up. She sighed happily before smacking her lips clumsily and blinking her eyes open. “Hello darling. It's time for some lunch, don't you think?” he hummed softly to her and, as if agreeing with him, stuck her short arms up. He chuckled, picked her up and leaned her back against himself. He kissed her temple and lay her down on his bed, then went to pick up Alex, who was already talking to him, having been woken by his voice.  
Alex was already lightly bumping a fist against his chest as he settled back against the headboard on his bed, scooping Kat back up and positioning them both comfortably. He lifted his jumper and undid the front of his chest binder, only realising then how much his breathing had been constricted by it. He sighed as his full breasts sagged slightly, being freed from the squeeze. The two pups latched on like magnets. His head fell back against the wall and he closed his eyes. It was such a new and wonderful feeling every time he fed his children. In contrast to regular Omegas, he produced enough milk to feed all of his pups in a reasonable time and for three meals a day. It felt a bit odd, but mainly it was a wonderful experience to him every time; the closeness he could share with his pups, feeling fulfilled for successfully caring for his babies. In these moments, he could dream of one day having an actual, functioning family with a nice person, a job, a house and all the human warmth he'd desired ever since he'd been a child. Even with his presenting as a Purist, John had never stopped dreaming. Some day, he would love someone and they would love him back for who he is, not what. They would raise these children with him and support his choices in life. He couldn't thank Sherlock enough for having brought him in a position where such a dream might actually become an option. He couldn't bare any more pregnancies and never seeing his children.

He pulled Kat and Alex closer as they finished up, resting in their love as he tried not to think about what may have happened to all his other pups. His first set of twins would be 23 by now. Adults. He shifted gently and put his pups back down on the bed to get the other three and start feeding them.  
When he was done, he lay down between them, arms like walls around them so they couldn't fall off the bed.

 

 

Two hours later, Sherlock cautiously entered the room and lay down the invitation letter on John's desk. As he turned to leave again, he faltered, stopping and looking at the collection of humans, short and tiny on the queen size bed. The door in hand, he watched John and his pups snore lovingly against each other for a moment, then left them alone.

 

 

“Just locum work.”  
  
“No, that's fine.” John smiled back at her. Sarah was very pretty in her ordinary way. He liked her smile; it seemed so honest.  
  
She checked his CV again. “You're, uhm... well, you're a bit over-qualified.” It was the first time he'd ever heard such praise directed at him.  
  
His smile grew. “I could always do with the money.” It wasn't a lie, after all, money was the reason he'd started looking for a job in the first place. The fact that he'd have to be satisfied with being a substitute, however, was more due to other potential employers checking his background or being dissatisfied with the 2 years blank between the military and now. He'd tried telling them it was for familial reasons, but, if anything, that only made it worse. No one wanted to employ an Omega who could quit or take a break at any moment to care for their family. It was too 'unreliable'.

 

 

Later, he was happy to announce to Sherlock, that he'd gotten the job. Sherlock seemed uninterested, not making a mention of how he'd found John the job. John, in return, didn't mention how the Beta was flirting with him. Not that he wasn't interested, he just didn't feel he wanted or needed a relationship at the moment. There were too many variables in his life at this point as it was. He couldn't get back into the suppressant routine, start a new job, take care of 5 newborns and enter a new relationship whilst also looking for accommodation. Yes, a partner could help him in some of these points, but it would definitely not help him in his attempt to become independent.  
  
Just as he was dashing upstairs, meeting Mrs Hudson, who ensured him she'd fed all the pups and that they were already settling, John heard someone else enter the house. He could smell the male Beta. As he checked on his children, he could just about hear voices from downstairs; Sherlock talking to the Beta. He recognised the scent faintly, now that he thought about it. When John came back downstairs, the third man had left and Sherlock was mid-leap as he noticed John, quickly informing him about something with suicides and a note. He was shrugging on his coat, tying his scarf and was out the door quicker than he could tell John not to wait up with dinner.  
The Omega, taken by the whirlwind that was Sherlock Holmes, but not really surprised any more. It hadn't been the first time. He was just about to settle down in his armchair with a laptop Mycroft had provided, intending to look up daycare centres in the area.

 

“You're a doctor.” John instantly looked back up at Sherlock's dark voice. “In fact you were an army doctor.” The Omega closed the laptop again and got up. An old reflex, getting ready to step into action. “Any good?”  
  
Still in semi-service mode, John kept his gaze level. Sherlock scrutinised him head to toes. “Very good.” He answered confidently.  
  
“Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths?” the question almost sounded like a challenge rather than curiosity. John confirmed. “Bit of trouble, too, I bet.”  
  
“Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime, far too much.” John replied quietly, like in remembrance of his fallen mates.  
  
Sherlock hesitated a moment, then almost smiled. “Wanna see some more?”  
  
The Omega, ridden with boredom of months, years of inactivity, felt his heart leap suddenly, practically tasting the adrenalin as it was let loose on him. “Oh, God, yes!” he breathed and dashed after the Alpha.  
On the cab ride, Sherlock explained little about where they were going, but filled John in on what it was all about. John remembered reading about serial suicides in the newspaper recently and how the police were getting nowhere with their investigation.  
“Why a I coming?” he asked eventually.  
  
Sherlock spared him a short glance, but didn't reply. They had arrived anyway, so John figured he would just go along and see where it got him.  
John, very pointedly, didn't like the way the sergeant that 'greeted' them called Sherlock a freak. Quite obviously, the Alpha himself wasn't happy about it either, visibly doing his best to keep calm and ignore her remarks as he invited John in. Sally didn't object, so he figured it would be alright. Maybe Sherlock had some sort of agreement with NSY. Besides, if this was the way Sherlock was treated in his company, John didn't want to know what it was like when he came there on his own and, in conclusion, really didn't fancy leaving the Alpha alone.  
With all his posture and pretending, however, Sherlock finally lashed out as another member of the force insulted the man's professionalism or just his general capabilities.  
“Your deodorant told me that.” he said arrogantly and John, knowing the burn that was about to befall this poor sod, readied himself to be able to follow Sherlock's train of thought.  
  
The guy, Anderson, however, didn't seem as keen to use his brain or at least appear as if. “My deodorant?” he asked in a confused but also very incredulous tone.  
  
“It's very Beta.”  
  
John internally snapped and laughed as Anderson fell for the bait. “Well, of course it is, _I_ 'm wearing it!”  
  
Sherlock's pride over his imminent success was practically tangible. “So is Sergeant Donovan. Oh, I think it just vaporised. May we go in?”  
Anderson protested the implication, but, really it was quite clear just _what_ Sherlock was spelling out for them all and sure enough the 'hint' Sherlock was giving them was enough to convince at least John. They went straight in without another word from the two and when the DI questioned John's presence as well, Sherlock quickly 'convinced' him. It was a strange dynamic and he honestly wasn't sure how legal all this was, but these guys were supposed to be the law, right, and they seemed to allow it. Still, John wasn't sure what his role was supposed to be, as Sherlock was going through what looked like a routine to draw conclusions and he just stood there, beside the DI and watched. Sherlock did ask his medical opinion on the cause of death, but even without the team from the police, Sherlock had already known the answer, even told John it was poisoning. His lack of use became very clear as Sherlock rushed out not many minutes later, leaving him behind to wonder along with the police what “PINK!” was all about.  
Confused, a bit shocked, but mainly taken aback, John made his way back to the main road to start looking for a cab to take him to Baker Street. He was pissed about being ditched like that, the police, of course, also had no further use for him, he was just a superfluous, old Omega. Stranded.  
At least, he told himself, he had a place to go back to. Sure enough, Mrs Hudson greeted him with open arms and some biscuits.  
  
They got chatting. The landlady especially focused on complimenting him for his pups. He had to keep reminding her that he was a Purist and that their lack of noise and activity in this stage was normal. Her comments on his own development were much the same in terms of answering: Yes, it was usual for OPs to not be flabby after 'small' litters like this, their skin was very elastic. However, she seemed to like what he was getting most self-conscious about; his weight.  
John knew he wasn't overweight, but with the standard that society set for Omegas' beauty, he just felt ugly. Not that it mattered, he wasn't trying to attract any partners, but he missed the strength and agility he once knew as an army doctor. Mrs Hudson's compliments were nice, but hardly helpful. He retreated himself to 221B after about an hour. He was in his bedroom when Sherlock got back in. He heard the Alpha rummaging around, making noise, but he refused to pay him any attention, very much angry at Sherlock's previous move. It took Sherlock merely a few text messages to get John downstairs, though, and the Omega hated himself for it.  
Sherlock was laying on the sofa, eyes closed, hands steepled under his chin, his feet massaging the armrest. John had asked Sherlock not to smoke inside the flat for his and his pups health's sake and Sherlock had complied without the tiniest of complaints, so finding him with nicotine patches on his arms was not unusual for John.  
“Three patches?”  
  
“It's a three-patch-problem.”  
  
John frowned. “You know that's also not exactly healthy for you, right?”  
  
Sherlock dismissed such concerns. “Don't care. I need you to send a text message.” he said and waved his hand in the direction of the desk. “There's a number on the desk, text it.”  
  
The Omega stood, looked at Sherlock in disbelief and blinked. “You just texted me.”  
  
“Don't want to use my phone, number's on my website. Chances are it could be recognised.” Sherlock brushed him off and waited till he could hear John pick up the paper with the number on it. “These words exactly: What happened at Lauriston Gardens, I must have blacked out. 22 Northumberland Street. Please come.”  
  
“You blacked out?” John worrying as he realised what he was typing.  
  
“What? No! Have you sent it?” Sherlock suddenly ushered him.  
  
“What's the address?”  
  
“22 Northumberland Street. Hurry up!” he presses and as John sent it and looked back up, Sherlock had produced a pink suitcase, unzipped it and was clearly waiting for something to happen.  
  
John faltered. “That's her case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case.”  
  
“Yes, obviously.” Sherlock dismissed again, observing the contents of the case. When, after a pause, he seemed to realise something, John was a little confused about what he said. “Oh, perhaps I should mention: _I_ didn't kill her.”  
  
“I know you didn't.” John replied, drawing his eyebrows together as he looked at Sherlock. The Alpha looked back at him and his stone-cold facade crumbled, a mild smile peaking through.  
“Do _they_ normally assume you're the murderer?” John had to ask. How insecure must Sherlock be to think John could even consider him a killer; John, who'd known him for months as maybe a disinterested, but nonetheless very nurturing man. Getting a man as brilliant as Sherlock to become unsure how people viewed smelled of some slow-burn mental abuse to John, and he really didn't like it.  
  
“Now and then, yes.” Sherlock smirked, however, like it was a game to him.  
  
John wanted to say something, but couldn't figure out the words without accidentally overstepping some lines. He dropped his gaze.  
“How did you get it?” he asked instead, going with the Alpha's excitement instead of against it.  
  
“By looking. The killer must have  driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention – particularly a man, which is statistically more likely – so obviously he’d feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn’t have taken him more than five minutes to realise his mistake. I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens... Took me less than an hour to find the right skip.” he practically glowed with pride especially at the look that John gave him. “Well, it had to be pink, obviously.”  
  
“Obviously.. So, hang on, what are we doing here?”  
  
“Well, the question is, where is her _phone_? There was no phone on the body, there's no phone in the case. We know she had one – that's her number there; you just texted it.”  
  
“Maybe she left it at home.”  
  
“She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it. She never leaves her phone at home.”  
  
It was beginning to dawn on John what Sherlock was trying to tell him. “The murderer. You think the murderer has the phone?”  
  
Sherlock shrugged a little. “Maybe she left it when she left her case. Maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone.”  
  
“Sorry, did I just text a murderer?! What good will that do?” Just as he finished his question, his phone lit up and started ringing. They both looked at it with mixed feelings. The caller ID said the number was withheld.  
  
Sherlock's voice was very intense in its focus on John's phone. “A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody had just _found_ that phone they’d ignore a text like that, but the murderer...” he paused. The ringing stopped “...would panic.” With that, he flipped the case closed and stood, putting on his jacket.  
“Well?”  


“Well what?!”  
  
“You could just sit here and watch telly.”  
  
“Or my children.”  
  
“Yes, like I said.”  
  
“You want me to come with you?”  
  
“I like company when I go out, and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention...”  
  
“So I'm filling in for your skull?”  
  
“Problem?”

 

“All due respect, but you're not my Alpha, you said you didn't want to be. I won't just be a toy for you to drag along.”  
  
“Whatever gave you that idea?”  
  
“You left me at the crime scene. Needless to say you've been mostly ignoring me the last 5 months.”  
  
“And now I'm asking you to join me and do something you might _actually_ enjoy.”  
  
John, feeling cornered, breathed lowly. “Why do you say that?”  
  
“Well, I said 'dangerous', and here you are.”  
  
“Damn it!” John cursed as he got up to go after an already leaving Sherlock. “Mrs Hudson, could you possibly have an ear on the little ones for me, please?” he called ahead as they went downstairs.  
  
The elder lady scuttled out of her flat. “What, are you two out again already? I'm not your nanny, dear.” she tutted, but there was no protest in her expression.  
  
“Sorry, but they honestly shouldn't be fussy, I've taken care of everything. It's just in case they start complaining about something, if you don't mind.”  
  
She smiled and shook her head. “Oh, aright. You boys go out and have fun!”  
  
John was a little confused by her choice of words and began to protest. “Actually, we're not going-”  
  
But Sherlock butted in on his explanation. “John!” he yelled back inside, hand having just about stopped the front door from closing.  
  
“Right. Sorry!” he replied to no one in particular and dashed after Sherlock. “Where are we going?”  
  
“Northumberland Street's a five-minute walk from here. He'll be desperate to get caught.”  
  
John was stunned by that bit of information and just a tad concerned. “Why?”  
  
Sherlock seemed to bloom with that question. “Appreciation! Applause! At long last the spotlight! That's the frailty of genius, John; it needs an audience.”  
  
John didn't consider this for long, just looked at Sherlock and agreed. “Yeah.”  
  
“This is his hunting ground, right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything. Because all of his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go. Think! Who do we trust, even though we don’t know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?”  
  
The Omega wasn't sure if Sherlock was asking him or himself, but he was curious if the Alpha knew the answer already. “Dunno, who?”  
  
Sherlock shrugged at that. “Haven't the faintest. Hungry?” he asked, already ducking into a restaurant. John followed. Sherlock seemed to know this place very well, addressing the waiter that showed them to their table by name. “22 Northumberland Street, keep your eyes on it.” he said with a nod to a building outside.  
  
John considered, but knew it was unwise to question Sherlock in this. “..Okay.”  
He was introduced to Angelo, a nice enough fellow that seemed all too eager to hook Sherlock up with somebody.  
“So.. you know him well?”  
  
“Hm?” Sherlock snapped his head back at John from where he'd been focused entirely on the street and the passing people.  
  
“Angelo.” John specified, inclining his head in the general direction in which the owner of the restaurant had gone. “He seemed very... keen.”  
  
“Yes, I fear his Italian spirit hasn't gotten note of the British etiquette yet.” the Alpha replied, eyes already back on the building opposite.  
  
John thought for a moment until his food arrived. “How long have you been... unattached then? I just mean, he's not the first to try and... you know.”  
  
Sherlock's gaze drifted back to him slowly, almost as if he couldn't believe he was talking at him about this right now. “I'm not looking for a mate.” he repeated the old mantra.  
  
“Yeah, I know, I just-..” John sighed, eating a forkful before a thought struck him. “Are you-? I mean, are you into Alphas then? Which is fine, by the way.”  
  
“I know it's fine.” Sherlock instantly fired back like it was the most natural opinion in the world.  
  
“So you've got another Alpha, then?”  
  
“No.”  
  
John fidgeted under the situation. “Fine. Yeah. Good.” he said awkwardly, not knowing how else to diffuse the situation.  
  
Sherlock seemed to be taking it the wrong way. “John, I think I should emphasise that I consider myself married to my work and while I appreciate your company, I'm really not looking for any-”  
  
“No. No, I'm not- no. I'm just curious. That's all. You know I couldn't deal with a relationship right now if I wanted to – which I definitely don't!” John tried to clarify.  
  
“Good.” The Alpha answered, collecting himself, apparently. “That's that then.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm proud of this chapter. I like this chapter. This is a good chapter.  
> I hate children, but the learning process in animals is fascinating. It's nice to have a setting in which children develop more quickly, that makes it easier ;) 
> 
> Also, can we please appreciate the fact that, if things had gone John's way, the canon baby would actually have been called Katherine? You know, like Kat in this story? Am I awesome???

John could pinpoint exactly the last time he'd had as much fun as he was having chasing through London right behind Sherlock – it was when he'd been serving in Afghanistan. Purpose and adrenaline. He was their junkie. Though he would argue Sherlock to be quite similar to him in that regard. Out of breath, giggling, they stood back in 221B, leaning against the wall. Sherlock Holmes was a ridiculous man, but then, so was he.  
Mrs Hudson came scuttling out of her flat and told them to go upstairs, where the police were waiting for them, pretending to be looking for drugs. Or not quite pretending, they were thoroughly searching the flat. One of them came downstairs from John's room, carrying a box. “I have been living with this man for months, I am a doctor, I can assure you he has not taken any drugs in all this time!” he protested against their belongings being disturbed. He could see how much it bugged Sherlock. DI Lestrade kept nagging at him and the Alpha looked almost.. betrayed? He reminded John of a child accused of lying when they were actually telling the truth. He couldn't help but side with Sherlock, even if that meant going against the police.  
He was just about to say something else when his children started unsettling each other, one of them starting to cry. John gave the leader of the team an exasperated sigh and rushed upstairs. He heard them bickering on the lower floor as he rocked and cuddled two pups at once, one in each arm, balanced against his torso. When he was finally able to leave his room again, carrying Jacob downstairs as the boy ran his fist up and down against John's chest, a noise was coming from his laptop. He went to look at it and found it showed a map and the noise was apparently a tracker having located something.

 

“Quick, John, where is it?” Sherlock asked, moving over to where he was standing as well and leaning over John's back as the Omega spoke.  
  
“What? Oh, it's, uh, here. It's in 221 Baker Street. Why what is it?” he requested from the Alpha, who was already turning around, mumbling under his breath about impossibility.  
  
The DI, the Beta whose scent John kept recognising and could now finally pin-point to him, answered him for Sherlock. “It's Jennifer Wilson's phone, he said the murderer has it. Must've fallen out of the case.”  
  
“What and _I_ didn't notice? _Me_?”  
  
John glanced away from the confused Alpha back to Lestrade. “Anyway, we texted the number and he called back.” He stroke his son's thin hair gently as the boy started to snore against him.  
  
The DI scratched his head and pondered for a moment. When Sherlock left the flat a few minutes later, appearing very weird to John's judgement, the police team finally retreated.  
John looked down at the infant in his arms and went back upstairs to tuck him into his cot. In the silence of the flat he could hear that noise again and he remembered the tracker. He had restarted it. Curiosity gripped him and he descended the stairs to look at his laptop. The phone wasn't in Baker Street any more. It had moved, was still moving. An insistent cabbie, Sherlock disappearing and the phone moving away from the house? He had a bad feeling.  
He ran down the stairs, throwing his jacket on as he dashed onto the street and got into someone else's taxi. He phoned the police on his chase after the phone, telling them where the tracker stopped. When he himself arrived there, he had to choose between two buildings. He took the one the cab was parked closest to and entered, searching from the bottom floor, looking into rooms, trying to find Sherlock. Trying to find out what was going on. His gun was a comforting, grounding weight in the back of his waistband. The open air had washed away any hint of Sherlock's already very subtle scent. He didn't know if he was running around the right halls, looking inside the correct rooms. The stench of other people, weighed down by chlorine and other cleaning agents confused John's sensitive nose more than anything. His eyes started to burn where they acted so aggressively against senses.  
Finally, through the windows of one room, he saw a room in the opposite building lit up, inside, two people. He looked more closely and recognised Sherlock's shape. Knowing that Sherlock was over there, likely with the serial killer, John tried calling out to him, but, of course, Sherlock couldn't hear him. John was about to run right back out and get over there, when he saw Sherlock holding something small. He could hardly believe it when he could make out Sherlock lowering what he could only assume to be the poison the other victims had taken, to his lips. He panicked. At a loss for better solutions, John opened the window, grabbed his gun, aimed and shot. It was only when Sherlock turned around that John fully realised what he'd done. He ducked and slowly crouched back towards the door, then ensured nobody saw him as he made an escape from the building after washing his hands inside, wiping over the sink where he'd touched it.

He hid and waited for Lestrade and his team to arrive. Only when he could see Sherlock safe and sound in the back of an ambulance did John join the small crowd of onlookers. He tried not to be too obvious as the man who just shot someone, but he wasn't surprised when Sherlock knew. To be completely honest, he was relieved by it; he wouldn't have to hide it from him.

Over dinner, they hardly said a word about it, but Sherlock kept hinting back to it.

 

“Could you not keep doing this, please?” John said in a hushed voice, but with a big grin on his lips. He hadn't felt this alive, this useful, since Afghanistan.  
  
“I'm guessing you aren't supposed to have it any more, then?”  
  
“Of course not! A veteran with PTSD and a tremor in his dominant hand? Not someone anyone really trusts with a gun.”  
  
Sherlock hummed around his mouthful in agreement. “Not to mention the paranoia.”  
  
John's grin fell instantly. “What do you mean?” he asked in part confusion, part challenge.  
  
Sherlock looked at him intensively for a second. “Nothing.”  
  
John didn't believe him for a second, but he let it go, not wanting to pick a fight and ruin their moods. “This was.. really extraordinary.”  
  
“Fancy doing it again?”  
  
“Are you serious?” John asked, eyes wide in hope.  
  
Sherlock, John would say, if he didn't know any better, blushed. “Only, if you wish to, of course. I could understand, if-”  
  
“You're kidding, right? 'Course I'd.. like to. Between the kids and my job, I'd have to.. of course, but.. yeah.” he concluded and paused. “Yeah, I'd like that.”  
  
Sherlock cleared his throat and stabbed at his food. “Good.”

 

 

Soft skin between his fingers, Alex's chubby leg wiggling as hi voice rang out in delighted laughter. Tickling always did the trick – a good distraction for changing nappies. Apart from, of course, when someone was in a bad mood for whatever reason. Then it could get tricky.  
They were starting to grow out of the reclusive phase, ready to learn from their parents, or in this case just John. He blew a raspberry on the curved stomach before buttoning the onesie again. Alex was still giggling on John's arm as they went downstairs, where Mrs Hudson was already entertaining the rest of them before having breakfast together. Sherlock was on the couch in the living room, waiting patiently for the kitchen table to be cleared for his next experiment.  
John had offered him to join them and eat together, but of course Sherlock had declined.

The only part of his biology that John was ever grateful for, was that purist children were so uncomplicated. There was rarely ever any fuss. Kat was a bit of a rebel, but as soon as John gave a firm word on her playing with her food too much, she slumped and ate properly.

With help from Mr Hudson, John moved the kids over to the living room for their daily learning routine. He cleared the kitchen table and nudged Sherlock out of his trance. He thanked Mrs Hudson and sat down by his pups. He drew their attention to himself and started by waving at Rosie, saying hello. The first time, they just watched. John waited and Rosie waved back, in a manner of speaking. She was moving her fist a little, her eyes fixated on her father in distant fascination.  
Jacob watched the interaction between his dad and his sister, got curious about their secret and tried it himself. John pointed Rosie's attention to Jacob and she paused, saw his hand doing what John' had done and copied again, waving at him. One after another, all the pups joined in, waving at each other in a vaguely familiar routine, always accompanied by John saying “hello” and other words of greeting. He later moved on to some simple clapping, but always keeping the volume low.  
When he'd first started doing these, Sherlock had grunted at the silly behaviour John was displaying, but eventually just accepted that this was what parents did. Now, not a sound came from the kitchen while John made learning a game for them.  
  
  
“Sherlock? I was wondering if you could.. play the violin for a bit? I just want to see how they react to that kind of music; if it interests them or relaxes them, you know.” John asked one afternoon.  
  
Sherlock looked at him once and could tell that wasn't the whole truth. “You mean you want them to get more used to seeing me and interacting with me.”  
  
John looked a bit guilty. “I know you want nothing to do with them, but it's just not right pretending to them that you don't exist. They're starting to ask questions and-” Sherlock's face was a picture of shock and disbelief and John had to clarify “well, 'ask' as in point at stuff and give me the look. It's not like they can't see you. They'll be pointing at you sooner or later, not to mention walk up to you in curiosity, once they master that..”  
Sherlock sighed and considered this. Strangely, he found it didn't appear quite as appalling to him as it used to, though he still didn't like it.  
John sank into the chair next to him, hoping it would help to speak to him on eye-level. “Please?”  
  
The Alpha glanced at him for a short time before giving in. “Fine. But no talking or waving or _clapping_.”  
  
A smile spread across John's lips, and he whispered a heavy “thank you” before getting back up and sitting down on the floor by his pups again. Sherlock joined the group in the living room, though instead of sitting down, he reached for his violin case. He instantly had the attention of all the children, with such a new situation, they were eager to see what would happen. They looked back at John occasionally to see his reaction, but John hardly noticed and, as ever, they imitated him, looking at Sherlock and smiling. Emilia bumped her fist against Jacob to point at where her brother was already looking, sharing the amazing thing she had found, even though she didn't understand it, only that it must be captivating, if her dad was so focused on it.  
Sherlock, having nearly forgotten there were children in the room, turned around to look back at John, for a short moment, they were making direct eye-contact, but as soon as the Alpha noticed the pups looking at him as well, his face hardened and he turned his back on them again.  
John's expression fell and he felt a weird sense of disappointment and sadness. He hadn't expected Sherlock to suddenly like his kids. He couldn't explain why he was so unhappy in that moment. Kat noticed it and was confused. She made a noise that was their version of 'papa' and he looked back into her confused face. She was a clever girl. He pulled her into his lap and cuddled her, wearing a fake smile. Luckily, their bond to him was not as sharp as the one they shared with each other, so they couldn't detect the lie just yet, though it would only be a matter of time.  
  
When he'd put them all to bed later that evening, he came back downstairs, making tea and sitting down in his usual armchair. Sherlock was sitting in the other one, though he was caught up in his mind palace. The Omega sipped at his tea; he'd missed the taste of it. Eventually, he'd gotten himself tea without caffeine, but it just wasn't the same.  
He took his notepad from the small table next to his chair, and a pen. He skipped back to a list of plans he had made weeks ago and ticked off all he'd done already. The one, big issue that was still on there, was 'find a flat'. He looked at it sadly, realising that he still had no foreseeable future in which he could cross that one out.  
The notes were taken from him and he looked up in surprise to find Sherlock frowning at them. His gaze shifted up to John, back down and then he sighed. “I assume it's time we actually talk about this.” he said, throwing the notepad off to the side.  
  
John hung his head both in shame and apology. There wasn't more he could tell Sherlock than the same old. “I know, I'm sorry.. It's just difficult to really balance all of this and still have-”  
  
“Shut up.” the Alpha cut in. “How many bloody times do you need to be told something until you accept it? Is it so difficult to believe that someone would do you a kindness? That someone might just like you?”  
  
Sherlock's gaze and voice were hard, but his words still sounded soft to John. “Pardon?”  
  
The younger man rubbed both hands down his face. “I don't want you to move out.” he finally admitted and John was taken aback.  
  
“But I thought-”  
  
“Yes, I don't want children around me, yes it is annoying, but considering my very own habits and how unconventional they are, I will hardly be qualified to judge. Besides, it would be very inconvenient to have you live somewhere else and then call you to a case.”  
  
John looked at him in amazement. “You'd still want me around for that? I, er.. I don't really know...” _what to say_ was initially planned to be voice as well, but John found himself cut off. “Uh.. thank you.”  
  
Sherlock nodded. No more words were spoken that evening, apart from 'good night'. But when John did go to bed, he felt warm and weird.

 


	6. Chapter 6

There was a voice in his ear and a hand between his thighs. There were no real words and the voice was distorted, but it was comforting, it made him feel safe in the embrace of the Alpha. Warmth spread through his chest. He felt loved and appreciated for the first time in decades. The humming in his ear turned into a high pitch, whining, crying. He was conscious with a snap. The fingers nudging at his hole were his own and the cry was one of his babies. A brief pang of guilt was quickly pushed aside by grabbing a tissue and hand sanitiser and tending to his child. Soft fleece was a weird whisper against his fingertips as he bounced Rosie on his hip, shushing her softly. The bit of contact seemed enough to calm her down, but she remained restless, so John decided to take her downstairs. He didn't want the others awake as well yet. He set her down on the floor by his armchair, where Sherlock could have an eye on her while he used the loo. He didn't ask, he knew the Alpha would ignore him at best and tell him off at worst when engrossed in an experiment. Sherlock looked out for them on his own accord and without really noticing it, but John knew instinctual behaviour better and he certainly knew concern when he saw it, however cautious it may be.  
When he left the bathroom, he asked Sherlock if he minded having them at the table. Sherlock knew it was rather a question of 'is it safe for my child' and he invited them with a hand gesture, engrossed with his microscope.  
John sat Rosie in one of the high chairs and warmed up one of the bottles of milk he kept in the fridge. He placed it in front of her and she reached for it immediately, more curious than hungry, but he assisted her. He then set to make coffee, petting her head and kissing her hair while it brewed. He set down one mug next to Sherlock, squeezing his shoulder to pull his attention to it. He used that moment to speak again. “Can I leave Rosie in the chair a few minutes? Just want to put some clothes on.”  
  
Sherlock hummed in acceptance, but only looked back up as John had turned his back. His gaze lingering on the phantom of an old shirt and loose boxers until movement in the corner of his vision made him look back to Rosie, struggling to lift her bottle to her mouth. He reached over and tipped it for her, her tiny hands steadying it as he provided the muscle power. She suckled and he looked back at his sample. When she pulled back, he let her guide his blind hand back to set the bottle on the tray again.  
John came back and thanked him, sitting down across from him with an apple, caressing his daughter's cheek. Sherlock saw his gaze lingering on her milk. John wasn't stupid, he'd notice there was less of it there than when he'd left. He smiled so softly it was almost unnoticeable and hid behind biting into his apple.  
“She seems to be the first one to wake rather frequently over the past weeks.”  
  
John gave a hum of agreement. “Maybe she'll become a morning person.”  
  
“I doubt it.” John looked at him with a mix of amusement and intrigue. “From personal experience and knowledge, most of the time people develop to be the opposite of what they display in sleeping habits as toddlers. I used to sleep all day, Mycroft apparently hated bedtime. Cried himself hoarse.” He watched John for a reaction and then smirked when the Omega grinned. “What's your work schedule today?”  
  
“Got the day off, but I'll bring the little ones to daycare at their usual time.”  
  
Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement. “Routine. Good.”  
  
“Mh. Why do you ask?” John enquired, taking another bite of his apple as he let Rosie inspect the fingers of his free hand.  
  
“I have a potential client coming later this morning and I was hoping you would.. assist me.” Sherlock knew it sounded a bit stumbled, but he couldn't think of better words. He didn't need help as such and he didn't want John to feel like an accessory, dragged along to feed the Alpha's pride. Not when there was that honest, and fragile, glimmer of hope in his expression.  
  
John was visibly suppressing a smile, trying to play it cool. It was no secret he was fond of Sherlock and liked feeling involved and needed. The Omega had a chronic need to help others. Sherlock was ready to put it to use. “Sure, okay.” John answered eventually and finished his apple. Rosie stretched her hands out for it, but John tapped her bottle. She had no teeth yet and he'd have to blend an apple for it to be edible to her. Besides, they still had a week or two before they would even start ingesting anything other than milk. She had a brief flicker of disappointment on her face, but the movement of his finger fascinated her and she began mimicking him absent-mindedly. When he got up to throw the remainder of his breakfast in the bin, she focused on her hand and a second later she was giggling at the tiny drumming sounds she could make on her tray. With his back to him, Sherlock observing her wasn't something John could see and, while he grinned like the proud father he was, he picked her up. “Now, don't make too much noise, somebody wants to work here.” he said fondly, looking back at the Alpha with an apologetic smile. He wanted to say Sherlock was smiling too, one of his honest smiles, but John didn't trust quick glances like that, especially not when he was in a good mood like this. He saw kind smiles on everyone when he was in this mode. He bounced Rosie on his hip and she giggled happily, but when he was about to set her down to wake and get her siblings for their breakfast, she suddenly started wriggling, her arms flailing in Sherlock's direction. She made an insistent noise and John sighed, straightening back up.  
He turned back to Sherlock. “Sorry, can I- can I leave her in the chair?”  
  
“Of course.” Sherlock frowned. She had been good so far, so he couldn't see how there would be a problem with it now. John seemed surprised by his answer, which made him draw his eyebrows together even more. Had he not been showing his acceptance of their situation? He'd been trying hard to make a point of how he didn't mind the children as much as he'd thought he would. Having them around was not much of a bother, as it turned out they were quiet enough.

The small girl was looking at him curiously and, as he returned her stare, he saw her imitating his expression. He concentrated for a second, then smoothed out his features. She looked surprised and then grinned uncertainly, as if trying to make him smile, but unsure if he'd comply.

He answered with a weak wobble of his lips. It wasn't convincing, but she seemed happy enough, wiggling in her chair and giggling a little.  
He heard John coming back downstairs to drop two pups in the living room and going upstairs again to get the other two.  
His eyes were glued to her. She reminded him of someone or something, but he couldn't put his finger on it. They all did. Sherlock couldn't remember ever really interacting with pups, apart from when he was a small wriggling worms himself and that one time he was made to wait in the car with cousin Jen's baby son, who'd been asleep and woke up to his mother scolding Sherlock for wrapping the seatbelt around his little chair to find the most efficient baby protection a car had to offer. Thinking back it was most likely to have broken the boy's neck at the car's first brake, but it would have been a discovery nonetheless.  
Now he was looking at John's pups and whenever he did so, he felt odd; scared to touch them in case they would break, but somehow so in awe at how much they looked like their Omega. He'd never realised how much babies imitate their parents. Their facial expressions were so unmistakeably John, that it almost hurt his heart with adorableness. And loss and envy. The flat full of five little Johns and not one of them any more his than the man himself. It shouldn't make him feel so hollow, but for the first time in his life, he felt like he was missing something. This. He felt like he was missing this.  
He didn't want to own John, of course. John was very attractive being the free and independent man he was currently living as. But a more primal part of his mind wanted to strap the Omega to his chest, the babies all around them and parade them around through London. Not many people had liked him and he could well see why. But nothing had ever made him so proud as John being his friend. Him and his beautiful children.  
For the first time in over thirty years, Sherlock wanted a family.  
Reality made him snap out of his trance and John was there, looking concerned and asking if something was wrong, checking Kat for anything that might give Sherlock reason to space out.  
“It's nothing, I was just surprised by their rapid development. They aren't more than 6 months old. That's a bit fast for human offspring.”  
  
“I might have mentioned that's what purists do? Mum said I was talking in full sentences at a little under 2 years old. Not fluent, but coherent. I don't know if they were more worried about me being so quick or Harry being normal..” Something like an old joke crossed John's features and Sherlock couldn't help but admit to himself that he's absolutely gorgeous like this. “Anyway,” John said, shaking his head and lifting Rosie out of the chair, “I expect their first words any day now. Normal babies start at this age and even if for them the words don't have a real meaning yet, the fact that this lot hasn't even really tried yet tells me they're not going to be geniuses. Just like your papa, hm?” John says that last bit to Rosie, sat on his hip, and smiles fondly. Sherlock wants to disagree, but doesn't. He pretends to observe his experiment as John gets the other four to have breakfast. The tissue sample had nothing more to offer him.  
From the living room came the voices of children babbling to each other while, one after another, they were exchanged. Usually, John would do multiple at once, but, Sherlock had to admit, there was only so much room on the wood surface at the moment and John, as ever, didn't want to bother him too much. He wanted to snap at the silly man for thinking so little of himself. For a clever man, John could be very stupid.  
The time between John leaving with all his pups and returning without them was a rare case of blurred memories. Something about adopting dogs, he thinks. Or maybe that was a metaphor. He doesn't remember and it scares him a little.  
“So, when's that client coming?” John asks, straight to the point as he was so often.  
  
“Meant to have been here already.” Sherlock frowned, looking at the clock on his phone. He disliked late people. He disliked being made to wait. It made anticipation battle boredom and usually ended with him doing things that were not so good. He focused his thoughts on John, his anchor in the last 11 months. They'd known each other for almost a year. They'd lived together for almost a year. Wasn't there something about celebrating an anniversary? “Cake” he said aloud, waking himself up out of his short trance.  
  
John was looking at him with his large worried puppy-eyes and the Alpha felt like he was melting from the inside. “Sherlock, are you okay? Are you feeling a bit.. out of sorts today?”  
  
“I don't know,” he answered absent-mindedly, then corrected himself with a lie. “No, I'm fine. Bored.” A white lie, he thought. He gave John his 'I-was-in-thought-and-you-interrupted-me' reaction.  
  
John's frown grew more disbelieving, but he kept his thoughts or diagnosis to himself. Sherlock didn't really want him to. “Do you know what your client wants, though?”  
  
“They haven't said a word about their issue. So, naturally, I know it's about a missing sibling that vanished from the family in broad daylight.”  
  
John's face told him that he was trying to reconstruct his thought process and failing. “How?”  
  
“The request came through my website, by someone with a username like a dog's name, 'Woody'. Someone this attached to a pet is typically still underage and living with their parents, but they also don't want said parents to know it's them, should they come across the request, so they didn't use email, which might be controlled or a shared address, but the anonymous request form I have integrated into my blog. Woody is a common name for dogs, so that's not very specific, and by not giving any details about the case they wanted to ensure no parents would be any wiser.”  
  
“But why a sibling? Why not the dog?” John asked, confused.  
  
Sherlock fixated him with a sharp, intrigued gaze. John felt the Alpha willing him to come to the same conclusion as him. “Think. Why would someone young enough not to have their own email account contact a detective operating privately without their parents' consent?”  
  
There was a light twitch in John's lip. “Teddy bear murder?”  
  
Sherlock's reflex to smile was near unnoticeable as the man focused on staying professional. “Lovely guess, but unlikely. Ask yourself: Why wouldn't the _parents_ contact me if it was something serious?”  
  
John regarded him a moment, visibly in thought. His voice was slow when he spoke. “They got threatened. 'Don't involve the police' – that kind of thing?” He took the half-smile in Sherlock's face as confirmation. “So the parents received a threat and the child knows they won't ask for help. Why not go to the police themselves?”  
  
“Either the parents made a comment about how the police couldn't help, or our client is scared to ask help from that kind of force.” John snorted. “What?”  
  
“Nothing,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “It's just, they don't know what kind of force they contacted instead.”  
  
At this, Sherlock chuckled and John be damned if the blush on the other's cheeks wasn't a sight to marvel at. He looked so young and innocent like he only ever did when he'd just solved a case. Alive and unlike the machine he tried to make people believe he was. “We're more discreet.”  
  
The question 'we?' died on John's lips before it left him. It was still a novelty to him that he got included in an Alpha's activities, but Sherlock had asked him to keep assisting him and he wasn't the kind of man to play cute. Further thought died as the doorbell rang and his head swung around instinctively, listening for activity downstairs. As ever, Mrs Hudson was at the door faster than should be expected at her age, not soon after, footsteps made their hesitant sounds on the stairs. John's heart clenched in a paternal manner when he saw their client come into the living room. The kid couldn't be older than 15, but the worry on her face was worthy of at least 20 years life experience. He got up and shook her hand, offered a glass of water and moved a chair for her to sit down on. When he came back with the water, Sherlock was just staring at her. It was a scary look to her, no doubt, but to John it was kind of adorable; he could tell the Alpha was trying to figure out how to talk to her without being intimidating, as was his usual strategy with adults.  
John handed her the water and sat back down in his armchair. “I'm John, this is Sherlock. And what's your name?”  
  
“I'm Lisa.” stuttered the girl, not looking at either of them. “My parent's mustn't know I'm here, promise you won't tell them, please?”  
  
John looked to Sherlock, who answered him with a nod. “Of course we won't. Now tell us, what happened?”  
  
Her brown eyes drifted up and glid from John to Sherlock and back to the Omega. “My brother is missing. My parents are telling me he's gone on holiday with his dad, but sometimes I secretly stay up at night to read and I heard them talk about it. They mentioned a letter and police, but they won't call them. I think they were threatened not to go to the police.”  
  
“You said your parents told you your brother was away with his father-”  
  
“He's your half-brother.” Sherlock answered and both John and Lisa looked at him.  
  
While John had a mild case of 'yeah, I was getting there' on his face, Lisa nodded. “My dad re-married 5 years after Tommy was born. I'm from his first Alpha, Tommy from the second. We now live with dad and a Beta, who's trying real hard to be a good mother to us. She's very nice, but I miss my mum. She died when I was young.”  
  
“I'm sorry to hear that.” John said softly and she seemed grateful for it.  
  
“What about Tommy's father; is there any chance he could have taken him?”  
  
Lisa shook her head. “No. At least I don't think so. Peter was always very kind and caring. He wouldn't scare his son like that.”  
  
John and Sherlock looked at each other briefly. Then the Omega took over again. Lisa trusted him more by instinct. “Can you remember when Tommy disappeared?”  
  
“It was on a Tuesday. We went out to the park together and he and I were playing with a ball. He'd thrown it a little too far, so I went to pick it up. When I turned back around, he was gone..” There was a ghostly expression on her face, turning her white and making her eyes water.  
  
Sherlock frowned deeply, leaning forward. “What about your parents? Where were they?”  
  
When Lisa spoke now, her voice was shaking. “They had gone to get ice cream for us. I was supposed to look after him. I,” a sob made her gasp for air violently, “I only turned away for a second! How could I lose my brother like that?!”  
  
John flung a quick look to Sherlock, who look troubled and paralysed at the crying child. He spoke softly and lowly. “Lisa, we want to help your brother, but crying won't do us any good, hm? The faster we find him, the better, right?”  
She nodded, her face still scrunched up, but she was putting up a visible effort to kill the tears.  
“Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything at all?”  
She shook her head.  
“Okay. How did you get here?”  
  
“I don't live far away. I told my parents I was going to a friend's house, since we have the day off school.”  
  
“Can you go to your friend?”  
She nodded.  
“Good. You should go there. Would you like me to walk with you?” John asked further and she looked into his open expression.  
  
“Thanks, I'll be okay.”  
  
Lisa left her details and made them promise, again, not to tell her parents before taking off. John looked at Sherlock with a troubled expression on his face.  
“Do you have any ideas?”

“A few,” Sherlock replied, tapping his lips with his index finger. “How about you?”  
  
The Omega shook his head. “Nothing I could poof.”  
  
Sherlock clapped his hands together and got up. “Let's go talk to her parents, then!”  
  
“What? We promised we wouldn't, Sherlock!” John's face reflected the disbelief he felt perfectly.  
  
Sherlock turned to him and looked at him intently. “Do you want to find the boy or not?” John stammered the affirmative, but with further objections ready on his tongue. Sherlock gave him no chance to speak them. “Well, then we need to get going! We need to get as far as we can while we have the time!”  
Sherlock was, of course, referring to John's day off. The doctor still felt bad for breaking his promise to a child. Sherlock sighed. “Believe me, she'll be more grateful for finding her brother than keeping her secret.”  
  
To this, John had to agree. He let out a deep sigh and got ready to leave the house. As they emerged onto the street, he called after Sherlock over the sound of a passing motorbike. “Shouldn't we first look where he disappeared?”  
  
“It's been too long, besides, Regent's Park is far too big and open to pin-point exact locations and form theories. People walk there all day long, no one would notice anyone or see anything out of the ordinary, if the family itself hasn't seen anything.” Sherlock's explanation was disheartening, but only too relatable. John always wanted to think he'd notice stuff, but was proven wrong repeatedly by the genius Alpha.

“So, you're just going to get her in trouble without remorse?” John's eyebrows drew together. It wouldn't be the first time Sherlock disregarded someone else's feelings to get what he wanted, but this was an innocent child and if John was honest, he couldn't divorce himself of the constant need to put his own pups in her situation. Thinking about Sherlock treating his children like that made him feel sadder than strictly logical.  
  
Sherlock seemed to consider John's reaction and calculate a fitting response. What he said in the end, however, left John completely flabbergasted. “I have an idea. Just play along.” Not long after, they had nearly reached their destination and John still had no clue what the plan was. When the door to the family's house was opened, Sherlock was a completely different person – a pleasant smile on his lips and concern in his brow. John saw how superficial these emotions were and just hoped the Omega in front of them didn't. “Good day to you, Mr Edwards. This is John Watson and I'm Sherlock Holmes, we're here on behalf of your son's school. We were hoping you could give us a few minutes to talk about what is going on.”  
  
The man in front of them hesitated. “I already phoned the school and told them he was staying with his father for a while. Anything he does concerning school is in his Alpha's hands.”  
  
“Mr Edwards, Tommy hasn't been at school for, well, at least a week.” said Sherlock, playing his role masterfully.  
  
John chipped in to not seem out of place. “We are worried about him and how the situation your family finds itself in might be affecting him.”  
  
There was still mistrust in the Omega's actions, but he let them inside at least. “The living room is this way. Would you like something to drink?” Both men declined. “Well, I don't know what exactly to tell you. My wife and I are very stable financially and emotionally. The children love her.”  
  
“Is your wife at home by any chance?” Sherlock asked.  
  
The Omega nodded and excused himself for a second. When he came back, a pretty woman was right at his tail, a wary smile on her lips, like she had to will happiness onto her face at a time like this. John shuddered as he looked at her and could only shake her hand by forcing himself. She stank of something all too familiar. “I am sorry I didn't greet you at the door. I'm currently cooking and couldn't leave the kitchen before.” she said in a thick Scottish accent.  
  
John felt like he was tied to the spot and white noise filled his ears. He was rigid beside Sherlock until the Alpha nudged him and suggested they leave. John had no idea how much of the conversation he'd missed. Once they'd left the street, Sherlock turned concerned eyes on him. “John, what happened?”  
  
“It's them.” the Omega replied dryly. He cleared his throat and tried again. “They 'kidnapped' the boy.”  
  
Sherlock grabbed his arms as John swayed and carefully leant him against a house wall. “What do you mean? How do you know?”  
  
“That Beta is part of the trafficking network, I'm certain of it.”  
  
Sherlock wasn't taking John's reaction lightly, and he was all too glad about that. Then again, his face felt so bloodless, he might as well have been looking like a ghost. “No parents would give their child into that society.”

John shook his head. “Didn't you notice? They weren't affected by his absence at all. Their acting was about as good as yours, no offense. That was no parental concern, Sherlock.”  
He could see Sherlock wanting to protest, but evidently the Alpha had to admit John's greater experience and knowledge in this. “Please, I swear I'm not making this up.” He could feel tears prickling in his eyes. Memories and imagination going hand in hand with John's thoughts to what the child might be going through right this moment.  
  
Carefully, hands laid down on his shoulders, asking for permission, before Sherlock started gently rubbing them. John was glad they were on one of the few streets in this part of London, where traffic wasn't too thick and their potential audience reasonably small. “I believe you, John.” Sherlock assured him and the Omega could see the Alpha's theories on the case dying away, replaced by the one solution proposed by his flatmate.  
  
John took a deep breath, closed his eyes and grabbed one of Sherlock's wrists. “He's a purist. I could smell it, even on suppressants. At his age, the hormones are unbalanced and cut through th-”  
  
Sherlock shushed him and only as he stopped talking did John notice he was right in the middle of a panic attack. He let Sherlock stabilise him and breathed through it, eyes cast to the ground in mild shame. “You don't have to explain anything, John, I can paint my own picture. All you have to do is tell me whether you want to stay on the case with me or go home and relax. You shouldn't be this... involved.”  
  
John thought about it and it helped push through his paralysis. Going home might have been the wiser option because Sherlock was right; he shouldn't be so involved, but thinking about home, his pups and himself at that same age the boy was, he couldn't look away. There was an Alpha sibling concerned for her brother and taking action against their parents' will and John couldn't just ignore that. “I want to do this with you.”  
  
Sherlock nodded. “Okay,” he whispered, then, looking around, asked “can I hold for a second?”  
  
John knew it was an instinctual thing; the Alpha part of Sherlock's conscience unsettled by a distressed Omega and wanting to comfort John for both their sakes, so he nodded. It felt nice. He hadn't had this kind of genuine concern in a long while and missed it dearly. He placed his hands delicately on Sherlock's waist, giving him enough space to move out whenever he wanted, but showing that his closeness was appreciated. His hair smelled of various products, their mixture undefinable, but pleasant.  
Sherlock looked a tad embarrassed as he drew back and thanked John in a low tone, but then John found it just as hard to look the Alpha in the eye. “So, exactly what's the plan? Judging by that case you were working when we first met, I assume you don't know where this circle might be sitting or else it wouldn't be there any more. So, are we just going to wait until that Beta leaves the house and then follow her?”  
  
Sherlock sighed. “I'm afraid that's exactly what we're going to do. It could be a while, however. Would you like me to tell Mrs Hudson to take your children today?”  
  
“Tell her? How about asking?” John answered with a slanted grin. “It's okay, I'll call her. You have an eye on the situation.”  
Mrs Hudson didn't sound too pleased with the spontaneous request, but agreed almost instantly and explained twice to John how she was going to time everything. He didn't have the heart to tell her he'd gotten it the first time, especially when he had this huge favour to ask of her. When he joined Sherlock again, the Alpha suggested they go sit in a cafe that had an easy view of the house, but was far enough to not make them obvious to the couple. It took hours, many cups of coffee between them and a sandwich for John until the Beta finally left the house. John sat up in alert and Sherlock did the same, though more subtly. With one last look the Alpha had John confirm that he was good to go with this mission and then they were off, stalking after their suspect.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been correcting some mistakes, like John and Sherlock leaving the house twice.. if you find any more, please let me know.


	7. Chapter 7

“Here it is then?” John asked, his courage swaying a little as he watched Mrs Edwards disappearing behind the club's facade.

 

“Here it is.” Sherlock didn't ask again if John was sure he wanted to see this through with him, which the Omega was glad about. There was no doubt in Sherlock concerning John's mental strength and whether or not he could 'handle' it – likely because the Alpha was aware that John had gone through much worse than Sherlock could dream of, having gone to war and all.  
  
“So, what's the plan?”  
  
“We're going in, of course.”  
  
“Wh- How?!” John's question fell on deaf ears, like so often, and he thought to himself that it was less enigmatic, as Sherlock seemed to hope, and more annoying. Nevertheless, he caught up with the Alpha's long stride and they were marching straight for the entrance of the shabby place. There was a guard outside, a tall Beta with broad shoulders. He was about twice John's height, twice Sherlock's width.   
  
He hardly spared the latter a glance, but held John back with an outstretched hand. “What do _you_ think you're doing?”  
  
John was frozen in his motions for a moment. He'd shot down guys like him god damn it, why was it so hard to stand up for himself now? “Is this some act of homophobia?” Sherlock asked and John watched, with his eyes as hard and determined as he could keep them, the Alpha boulder look at his companion. “Is an Omega not allowed to get an Omega for themselves?”  
  
The human wardrobe cast an uncertain look back to John, who made a point of standing his ground. “This club has a no-Omega-policy.”  
  
John was pulling together all the army will he could remember in this moment. “Well, then I guess I'll have to go somewhere else.” He was radiating a confidence he'd thought to have lost when he was shot in Afghanistan. Not that he was feeling as steady as he seemed, but standing up to one of these people gave him a form of satisfaction that was beyond fairytale. At Sherlock's inquiring look, he shook his head. “It's fine, you go in. I'll catch you later.”  
Sherlock seemed to catch John's meaning and mouthed a 'be careful' at him behind the giant's back. Then he disappeared inside. John himself set off, too, however not to another club – where would be the point in that – but rather in search of a back entrance. Luckily, the guard's position was a little into the building, which obscured his view of most of the club's surroundings, so John had opportunity to roam freely around the venue. At last, he found a heavy door labelled 'NO ENTRANCE', but since he didn't give a damn, he pulled it open and slipped inside. It stank of perfumes, smoke, alcohol and humiliation. He knew some of them pretty well. This club was different, however, from the auctioning house he'd been kept in. This wasn't showcasing Omegas, but rather presenting them. There were changing rooms with what John assumed to be the Omegas' numbers. Five people per room, it seemed. He followed the most recent trail of Omega hormone cocktails in hopes it would lead him to where they were kept all day until the next show was on. He'd heard of the auctioning clubs, where they'd be pulled onto a stage and sold one by one to whoever was the highest bidder. He could never figure out which type of Omega-auction was less humane than the other.   
  
At last, he had his eyes on a door to which a sheet of paper was taped, saying 'DORMS'. He walked towards it when someone called out behind him. He froze as quick steps approached him and soon had his face pressed into a wall. “How did you get out here?! What's your number?”  
  
The guy sounded relatively young and stank of various Alpha scent markers. He detected at least a deodorant, aftershave and shampoo specifically designed to make pathetic Alphas confident in their virility and sex-appeal. “I was here before, but my Alpha just brought me back. I was lead backstage and told to wait by the dorms for you to let me in.” If he was lucky, this guy was new and would fall for it. Damn, he'd have to pick up work-outs again so he could apply his skill set from the army in situations like this. This one guy, he could take down easily, but if someone like that human house at the door crossed his path, he wouldn't stand a chance. He'd have to try his luck.   
He let the kid shove him towards the dorms and stood still as he unlocked the door. The boy held out a little device, pressing a large button on it that made John's ears ring until he thought he'd go deaf just to escape the noise. The Alpha seemed unaffected, but the other Omegas in the room – placed on a level atop some stairs – pressed their palms hard against their ears. Just as the Alpha loosened his grip on John, he knocked his head hard into the other's and took him out with a few quick motions. He still couldn't hear, even though the button had long been released.   
He decided it was best not to shout and with wild hand gestures, he told the captive Omegas to make a run for it. The first few didn't need to be told twice, the others soon followed like a herd of sheep. John kept his eyes peeled for the little boy they came for and was shocked at how many minors were in this crowd. He was only able to identify the right boy by his scent, the ripeness of which made John feel a pang in his chest. He must have been approaching heat.   
He held out his hand and the boy took it in an instant, recognising the parental motivation in John's actions instinctively. They followed the crowd back to the back door, where they were trying their best to get out as fast and quite as they could manage. John pushed his way through and pulled back the ones that were already leaping towards the street, holding his index finger to his mouth and pointing at the kid by his hand. They agreed to protect the children among them as John squeezed his way back inside. He went straight for the dorms again and locked the young employee inside, stealing his keys. One of them looked like it might belong to a locker, so he snuck around, looking for wherever the employees got ready for their job. He thanked all powers that might be for it seeming to be a very guard-less day or time or whatever because he didn't come across a single Alpha or Beta the whole time. He quickly sought out the young employee's locker and found, as expected, his deodorant and cologne. It wouldn't convince anyone that John was an Alpha, but it might just be enough to make him seem like a Beta trying way too hard. If that kid was new, others wouldn't be familiar with him either.  
  
He clipped the ring of keys to his trousers and breathed for a moment, willing his nerves to calm further, he worked best like this, under constant threat, but it would do appear nervous. Guiding a hand through his hair, he set off out of the room into the main area of the venue. There were more people here; guests and employees alike. He nodded at whoever caught his eye. Some nodded back, most of them began whispering or had questioning looks on their faces. He kept an eye out for Sherlock, his nose completely blocked by the obnoxiously intense smells and his ears still ringing. At last, he caught a glimpse of the tall Alpha, currently talking to another guest. To the stranger, it likely looked like Sherlock was very engrossed with the conversation, but John, who knew Sherlock's expressions and body language quite well by now, could see he was uncomfortable and relieved when he could excuse himself and duck out of it to get to John. However, as soon as he got close enough to smell John, he wrinkled his nose. “You stink awfully.”  
  
“Yeah, well, at least I'm still walking around freely.” John said under his breath.  
  
Sherlock smiled little “Can't argue with that. Did you find him?”  
  
“They're all waiting outside the back door.” Sherlock nodded at the whispered response. “So, what's the plan? Have you called Lestrade?”  
  
“I may be eccentric, but even I wouldn't hope to overthrow a circle like this on my own.”  
  
“I'm suddenly having a deja-vu.” John grinned softly. “Now, I guess we just have to not be noticed, huh?”John found looking suspicious very hard to do, especially when the smell of arrogant, entitled Alphas was battling with the odours he was now slowly getting used to.  
  
“Are you okay?” The concern on Sherlock's face was genuine and John felt, once again, privileged to be one of the few recipients of such gestures in the Alpha's life.  
They had to wait for five more minutes, the venue steadily filling with Alphas and Betas. No one questioned John talking to one of the guests the whole time. Apparently, as a Beta or Alpha, you could do everything, even slack off at work.  
  
Once Lestrade's team arrived, people suddenly started moving quickly. Particularly the employees of the club moved towards the back almost in panic. They tried to flee through the back door, which wouldn't open due to the tightly packed Omegas on the other side, some of whom started actively blocking it. It took about 10 minutes to have he building secured and about 30 to officially arrest every last criminal in the venue. Lestrade came back into the foyer with a flock of Omegas tailing him. Tommy went straight for John as soon as he saw him, wrinkled his nose and buried his face in the leg of his jeans.  
Greg, too, scrunched up his face pretty hard. “What do _you_ smell of?!” he asked, pinching his nose between his fingers.  
  
“Had to go undercover, didn't I?”  
  
Lestrade looked him up and down. “You okay? This place doesn't freak you out?”  
  
John petted the boy's head and grinned cockily. “Well, it helps not being able to smell anything other than chemical shit you sprayed on yourself.”  
  
Greg glanced down at the boy in response to the curse, but said nothing when Tommy didn't react. He sighed, nodding. “Sure makes me uncomfortable.” He was looking around, then, as he shook his head. “God damn, this is the 21st century, how can people still think these things are acceptable?”  
  
“Beats me.” John replied simply.  
  
“What were you two doing here anyway?” The question, like the look, was cast towards the both of them.  
  
Sherlock finally spoke at this. “We were asked to find this boy, so we did.”  
  
“Oh,” Greg said, slowly realising the situation properly, “his parents will be glad to have him back then, such a place..”  
  
“Doubt it,” was John's terse reply.  
  
Lestrade gave them a curious look and Sherlock simply told him “we'll explain in full at a later time, for now, we need to return this child. Oh, and I texted you another address as you were combing through the back of the club. Go there and arrest both the Omega and the Beta.”  
  
Ignoring any further questions Greg might have had, Sherlock ushered John and Tommy towards the exit. Outside a crowd had gathered, among them Tommy's sister. Lisa clapped a hand over her mouth and the boy ran towards her in an instant.   
John and Sherlock exchanged a look and approached them further. Lisa was in tears as she spoke. “Thank you so much! I didn't expect you to find him so quickly.”  
  
“Neither did I.” John was happy to say there was a small smile on Sherlock's lips as he said that, looking at the Omega. “The police are going to arrest your Omega and Beta parents, I trust you've read all of my note?”  
  
Lisa nodded and drew her hand through her brother's hair. “If our parents are going to prison, then where do we go?”  
  
“Tommy's Alpha would be the next guardian to him, so I would say you'll stay with him.” John concluded and a smile spread across the children's faces.  
  
Sherlock had stepped aside to hail a cab and when he turned back to them, he said “if you'll get in the taxi, we'll accompany you there.  
  
It was needless to say Tommy's father was overjoyed. He'd been on his balcony and came running down as soon as he saw them. He'd been kept from talking to either child for months by their Omega. Now he was embracing them, listening to their story. John was happy to see how much the Alpha cared for them. He moved a step closer and lowered his voice to be a little more private as he told the father to get Tommy a safe space for his impending heat. The Alpha chuckled and nodded. Lisa turned her red face away.  
John and Sherlock went straight home from there. In the cab, the Omega turned to his companion, feeling able to breathe properly for the first time since Lisa had announced her arrival this morning. “Thank you.” Sherlock turned an inquiring eye on him. “For listening earlier and not just brushing it off. I had nothing to really base my accusations on, so you could just as well have told me to sod off.”  
  
John could see Sherlock draw in a breath and then release it again abruptly. “A great mind knows when to contemplate an even greater one. My experience in human emotional responses is limited, so I would have been an idiot to ignore yours.” Sherlock paused and John used that moment to really let that warmth inside him spread as he was taking seriously by an Alpha. “What I don't understand is how I didn't pick up his being a purist. He can't be on suppressants and I could smell you very easily before.”  
  
“Ugh, that house had been scrubbed to the last inch! It reeked of chemicals all just aiming to erase his scent. Your nose would have been too occupied with all of that to really pick up his remaining traces. For that, you deal with hormones too subconsciously. You smelled it, but it was so faint in comparison that the info wasn't even considered. As a purist myself, I have a much more sensitive nose, especially towards other purists. For reproduction or protection, that all depends on the individuals at hand. My suppressants limit my ability to pick up certain scents, but not enough that I wouldn't smell an OP racing towards heat.”

 

Sherlock considered this explanation. Finally, he nodded, apparently accepting it. “Does it happen a lot that Purists kill their twin? There was never even once a mention of one, so I would assume neither child was ever aware of one.”  
  
John swayed his head side to side. “It's not uncommon, unfortunately. Because of our accelerated development, especially as unborn pups, we need a lot of nutrition. If the carrying Omega doesn't ingest enough of something, the purist twin is always prioritised in receiving all the necessary stuff, thus essentially starving their non-purist twin. These days the only real reason this still happens is Omegas living on a diet throughout their pregnancy, which is dangerous and potentially harmful to any fetus.”  
  
“So, he starved Tommy's twin to death and then blamed the boy for it.” Sherlock's voice sounded as if he wanted to say more, but was at a loss for words. He shook his head instead.  
  
“It's horrible. Losing one pup is painful enough, how could one sacrifice another to try and even it out? It's beyond me.” John did all he could to hold back the sudden rush of tears clawing at his eyes. They died out eventually, but he knew Sherlock had seen them. He could tell the Alpha was currently conflicted about wanting to touch John in a reassuring manner and not wanting to intrude on his private emotions or just assume he had the right to touch whenever he wanted.   
John appreciated this and, while it would have been nice for once to have someone show he wasn't alone, he was glad he could proof his own strength in this moment.  
They didn't say anything else for neither of them could really think of anything appropriate to the tone of the situation. John unlocked the door to 221 Baker Street as Sherlock paid the cabbie. He felt some of the tension leave his body the moment the familiar scents of his home hit his nose and he felt lighter for sensing the closeness to his pups again.   
Mrs Hudson must have heard them because she came stumbling out of her flat with Alex in her arms. “Oh, you are a saint, Mrs Hudson. Thank you so much!”  
  
The elder woman wrinkled her nose as she hesitated in giving his pup over to him. Alex, too shifted in disturbance, sleep falling away gradually at the unpleasant smell on his Omega. “Maybe you should take a shower first. If I am bothered by that smell, and I am way past my prime, then I don't think the little ones would appreciate it either.”  
  
John sighed at being denied his children for longer, but had to agree. He excused himself, saying he'd get them as soon as he was done and made his way upstairs, where Sherlock had just put on the kettle and was taking off his coat. He enjoyed the warm spray more than he'd planned and caught himself nearly falling over in fatigue twice. After the second time, he decided to go safe and sat down in the tub, scrubbing idly at his skin to get off the horrendous stench of the young Alpha's pathetic shot at masculinity. By the time he emerged from the bathroom, he could hardly keep his eyes open any more.  
“They're in their cots upstairs. I took the liberty of carrying them.”   
  
John gaped at Sherlock like a stunned sloth as the man fired this information at him just before he could make for the stairs. “Uh, thanks.”  
  
“Don't worry. You seemed like the day was finally catching up to you and there are more pleasant sights than you falling on the stairs and potentially squishing your babies.” The flat way in which Sherlock said that made John swallow hard. It really wasn't a nice image in his mind. Sherlock offered him a cup of tea, but didn't let John take it. Instead he motioned for John to take a seat in his armchair in the living room and set the mug down on the small round table beside him. John took a sip and was happy to find that the drink was at just the right temperature now. Reclining in his chair, he rubbed a hand over his eyes.  
Then Sherlock was gently shaking his shoulder. “John.” The Omega looked at where Sherlock was leaning over him. “Perhaps you should go to bed.”  
  
“Hm? We only just got back.”  
  
“You've been napping for half an hour.” Sherlock said with a slight chuckle in his voice. Then he straightened. “It was a rough day, I don't blame you. I'll be sleeping soon, too, I hope.”  
  
John let out a deep groan, making his laziness known, but got up in the end. “Right, good night then.” he muttered and shuffled his way upstairs.  
  
  
Jacob was just getting his breakfast stuck in his mouth when Lestrade arrived at the top of the stairs. John hadn't heard Mrs Hudson open the front door nor the heavy feet on the steps, but their doors were open and the DI wandered straight in. John had overslept that morning. He hadn't realised the day before, how drained all of it had left him. He put on a big smile that was only ¾ fake and greeted Greg.   
“Sorry, bad time?” the detective asked, watching John frantically stuffing a very squishy-looking dolphin into a bag. “I came to talk about the case. I need both your statements, I'm afraid.”  
  
“Uh, yeah, uhm.” John said, scratching his head as he tried to figure out working time management for this added activity. “Sherlock's still sleeping and I gotta go drop off this lot at the daycare in about 5 minutes, can we do this after? I have some room for until my shift starts.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, sure thing!” Greg replied. “Do you want any help?”  
  
John shook his head and grabbed the bottle from his son. Jacob began to protest, but John shut him down effectively. “You didn't take any the last 2 minutes, so I'm guessing you'll be fine until we get there. If you were really that hungry, you would have eaten before, so quit that face.” He capped the bottle and threw it in the bag as well.  
  
“I can wait in the cafe downstairs?”  
  
“Huh? Nah- hang on. I'll get Sherlock, can you watch them for a minute? Thanks.” He walked down the narrow corridor rather briskly, slowing down gradually as he reminded himself to calm himself.  
Sherlock was sound asleep, so he touched his shoulder and shook it lightly. “Sherlock.” A low grumble sounded after a bit. “Lestrade's here, he wants to talk about the case.”  
  
Sherlock's face scrunched up and he looked at his clock to get the time. “Aren't you off to the daycare in a minute?”  
  
“Yes, that's why I want you to get up and care for our guest until I'm back, please? I don't really have time right now.”  
  
Sherlock watched John's face for a second, then agreed. “I'll be right there.”   
John thanked him and was walking out his room when Sherlock grumbled a little more. “Be safe and all that.”  
  
“He'll be out in a minute.” John informed Greg with a little smile, then grabbed Jacob and lifted him out of his high chair. “Right, we're out now. See you in a bit.” And with that, John carried two children, strapped to his chest and back, and their bag downstairs, came back up and took the remaining three in similar manner.   
  
Sherlock listened for the door downstairs to close and got up after a breath that prepared him for the torture that was other people. It took him 2 minutes to get dressed, absolutely not in the mood to wear just his sheet. He went straight for the mugs and threw “coffee?” at Greg as he came into view.  
  
“Thanks,” was the DI's reply. Then he decided to start small-talk. “So, how are you two holding up then? John looked a bit exhausted.”  
  
“Mh, I hear being a parent can be quite a handful.” Sherlock replied, doing his best to not let his mind drift anywhere.  
  
“That's no secret.” agreed Greg.  
  
An eyebrow raised, Sherlock added, “Plus he practically single-handedly saved a herd of Omegas from the grasp of an organisation specialising in the enslavement of Omegas to Alphas and Betas.”  
  
“You sound quite smitten.”  
  
Sherlock looked flatly at Greg's know-it-all smirk. “I appreciate his efficiency.”  
  
Greg watched him finish their coffees. “Well, isn't that nice? Thanks. You'll be keeping him around then, I assume?” he asked, stirring some milk into his coffee.  
  
“Whether or not John stays is his choice, not mine. Though, I would advice against him moving out. He'd have a hard enough time to establish himself out there on his own, let alone with five toddlers. Society is very slow catching up.”  
  
“He needs an Alpha's footing to survive.”  
  
“Regrettably. He'd be a remarkable example of independence for all Omegas, but the world is rarely so kind as to grant the less fortunate such a chance.”  
  
Greg's eyebrows furrowed at that. “What do you mean?”  
  
Sherlock, having forgotten for a moment that no one really knew John was a purist, shook his head. “Nevermind. He just isn't, at this time, in a position to care for a family as large as his. It's obvious that bothers him.”  
  
“He's a strong chap.”  
  
“That he is.” Sherlock agreed, his focus shifting away from Lestrade and the living room.  
  
The detective couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face. “What about yourself? Any of this stirring paternal feelings in you yet? Ever thought of starting a family of your own?”  
  
This stirred Sherlock's awareness back to the room. “What are you implying?”  
  
Greg shrugged, but the twist in his lips remained. “I'm just saying John's a nice guy.”  
  
Sherlock frowned his confusion openly. “He is.” he agreed. He only realised what Greg was getting at when he analysed his grinning face more deeply. He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Things like that make you seem like my mother. Or worse, my brother.”  
  
“Hey, I'm just happy you're having a good influence like him around you. You've seemed a lot more content for the last year and honestly, we don't need you going back to the whole drugs-business.” Greg ended in a much more serious tone.  
  
Sherlock's exasperation was obvious. “Definitely my brother.” he breathed, sinking into his armchair. “Just don't talk until John gets back, or do, but not to me. At me, I won't be listening.”

 

It was another 15 minutes before John got back. Sherlock hadn't surfaced in the meantime and Greg had kept himself busy with his phone. When John did get back in, he fetched himself some tea straight away and then tapped Sherlock's shoulder to wake him. Neither of the other two men knew Sherlock's internal focus had shifted back to reality the moment he could smell John's return. He just wanted to listen to the doctor's routine and see if they'd take the chance to discuss him while he wasn't present and was pleased to rediscover John's morals were greater than trivia. He opened his eyes shortly after his shoulder was tapped, catching a whiff of the OP's muted smell, which he'd grown to associate with home quite firmly. But there were five variations of that smell missing for the full experience. Lestrade was right, John and his pups had taken over his life so swiftly. And he never minded it one second.  
A skilled eye, Sherlock half hoped Lestrade could interpret what Sherlock knew would be his own dilated pupils – one of the few physical reactions he couldn't control. He also hoped no one noticed. He had a hard time coming to terms with what became clear to him were romantic feelings for the Omega had been living with for a year; he hardly needed anyone else do it for him.  
They discussed what happened, how they caught on the trail and John had a hard time explaining what made him realise the parents were responsible for the little boy's disappearance without giving himself away.  
Lestrade let them know neither one of the parents were really telling them anything. Some very specific kind of leverage was needed. Eyes wandered to John.  
  
“You want _me_ to interview them? Is that even legal?” John asked, frowning.  
  
“Technically, no, but we've had Sherlock in there plenty a time and I'd guess you care more about rules than he does. Plus, I really don't have the time and resources to spend on this case. We need to wrap it up and I need someone who knows what to poke for.”  
  
“And that's me.”  
  
“You caught onto their signs of child neglect, I think, as an Omega, you have an insight to this that the rest of us can't hope to ever achieve.”  
  
John considered Greg's request and while he didn't fancy ever talking to those people again, he could tell the desperation in the detective's voice and face was genuine. He agreed to come in the next morning, then got ready and left for work.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't ask or pressure me about other stories. If inspiration doesn't come to me, I won't force myself to write. I do this for free for your enjoyment, I have a real life and real problems and you're not helping me want to work on my stuff with that kind of behaviour. Thank you.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I.. uhm.. I'm still among the living. Just to, er, let you know.

His face was so arrogantly smug, his first instinct was to punch it. A lot of things about this man made him want to punch him, but it was John in there with him and, by his own judgement, the OP was pulling up all the restraint he'd learned in the army. He looked tense, but he let on nothing more. Then again, John's posture alone was always enough to force most people into a quasi state of submission. Sherlock was both glad he'd not yet been on the receiving end and kind of curious what would happen if he did get himself there.  
Greg and he watched the two Omegas through the one-way glass. No words had fallen yet. Mr Edwards was assessing the situation. John was assessing his weak spots. By the look in his eyes, Sherlock could tell John was going to try to break him. He knew he should have told Lestrade this, so things could be called off before it was too late or something, but he didn't want to deny John this. The Alpha had long suspected John needed an outlet for what seemed to be a lifetime of horrible events and while a psychiatrist would have been the safer option, the Omega didn't have money for one and he was guaranteed not to accept that kind of help from Sherlock as well.  
So, Sherlock let this man be John's stress ball. Besides, people like Mr Edwards hardly deserved more.  
  
“No one has really told me why my wife and I are here. We were told you found our boy. We'd like to see him.” said the delicate man, holding the zip on his jacket elegantly, but defensively.  
  
“Funny how you used the plural there. He isn't your wife's biological son, is he?” John was calculating his words like Sherlock hadn't seen him do before. From the first syllable, he was manipulating the conversation in the direction _he_ wanted it to go.  
  
“He was my second partner's. But she loves him like her own.”  
  
“Does the same go for you?” John asked and the question seemed to be the first critical hit in the man's posture. He faked an enquiring look, so John pushed on. “Tommy's a Purist, isn't he? Where's his twin?”  
  
“H-how do you know he's a Purist?”  
  
“Please, the boy's about a day from his first heat! His hormones had been building up for _weeks_.” The other Omega looked perplexed at John, knowing fully well what he was implying. “Yes, you did all you could cleaning your home, _his safe place_ , from his scent to hide it, but no matter what and how many cleaning agents you use, you just can't kill the hormones. Especially Purist ones are pretty stubborn. Did you know, that they only completely deteriorate after 5 years? Probably not, because you wouldn't be able to pick up on them consciously, would you? Whenever you move somewhere someone's lived before you, you feel like the place has a story.. Well, now you know it does.”  
  
“So what? Smelling him every day made us feel sad, no one could focus.”  
  
“You're right, room spray doesn't quite mask a Purist's scent. But 5 different cleaning agents is still a bit much, don't you think? You didn't want to avoid getting sad. You wanted to erase him from your life like you did his scent.”  
  
“How dare you! He's my son! I won't be accused of such things and I won't say another word without my lawyer!”  
  
“ _Where_ _is_ Tommy's twin?” There was a long pause and it was obvious Mr Edwards was struggling to keep a levelled look at John.  
“You didn't want an Omega child. You were so looking forward to that little Alpha baby, that you almost forgot about the other one. The stronger one. You tried to starve him so you wouldn't even have to look at him once. Only that backfired, didn't it? You killed the one child you wanted and then blamed it on an innocent pup. It was too late to get an abortion and putting up Purists for adoption isn't possible. You were stuck with him. Stuck with that child that killed your true little love. You couldn't just kill Tommy, though, could you? That would have been too humane. You wanted him to suffer. You broke up with your partner and soon got with that Beta, who just so happened to be part of London's underground world; of the human auctioning society more specifically. That would be the perfect fate for this boy.” John's breathing was audible in the narrow room the others were watching, his anger increasing the intensity of each breath.  
“How badly must you have been treated for being an Omega that you would do such a thing to a child?!”  
  
“You know nothing about me. You don't even know what you're talking about!”  
  
“Oh, don't I?” There was a flicker in John's eyes and then it began. Sherlock was suddenly seeing what John meant whenever he described Sherlock's deduction-chains. “So close to heat, an OP his age? He would have been sold the first auction he'd have been paraded! He'd have been pregnant before his heat even hit, by some disgusting middle-aged Alpha snob, who'd use him as a sex toy. He's young, still pliant, mind weak. He would have been tortured into being a good little house-omega, doing chores, carrying litter on top of litter around until his underdeveloped legs couldn't carry him any more. And you know what? It wouldn't have brought your sweet Alpha baby back.”  
The Omega's face twisted until it looked painful, then he spit at John and hit his cheek. The OP let go of the table, absolute fury having taken over his eyes, and threw back his angled arm to land a fist square on the other man's jaw. He was about to leap at him when the policemen stormed into the room and secured John, the other Omega cowering under the table, shielding his head and holding his jaw. 

John was ranting on as the officers walked him to the door, not resisting in the least. “You are disgusting and a shame for all Omegas! To put an innocent _child_ in such a position! I hope you're proud of your daughter because _she_ worries about him! _She_ loves him like _you_ were supposed to! You don't know how fucking lucky you are!” He didn't wait for a reply nor could he bare to look at his face a moment longer. He went next door, where Sherlock, Greg and Sally had been watching. His cheeks were red with anger and shame when he walked past the sergeant, who scrutinised him thoroughly.  
  
Sherlock drew up a chair for John to sit in and the Omega took a seat gratefully. Greg ordered Donovan to take the place John had left open next door, then he sat down opposite John. “The hell was that?” he asked, though his voice sounded much softer than his words.  
  
“I snapped.” replied John evenly, though it was beyond obvious that he was annoyed with himself.  
  
Greg nodded. “I saw that. Care to explain _why_ you assaulted my suspect?”  
  
John took a quick, deep breath, avoiding eye-contact. “I took it a bit too personally. I got too involved.” He briefly caught Sherlock's eye with that last sentence.  
  
“Yeah, but why? I get that you're an Omega and a father, but this was a bit extreme. How am I gonna explain this? This case will go to court and you can bet he'll press charges for that!” John didn't immediately reply and cast his eyes to the floor. “Look, if there's something serious on your mind, you should tell me before I let you question a suspect. Both for their safety and yours. Now, will tell me what got you so riled up?”  
  
“ _I'm_ a purist.” John pressed out through his teeth, eyes closed. He then realised what he'd just said and looked around quickly to see if anyone else could have heard. It was just the three of them. “That's how Sherlock and I met. He found me in that actioning house you shut down about a year back.”  
  
Greg processed this a moment. Then he cast an angry look at Sherlock. “You _bought_ him?!”  
  
Sherlock sighed, rolled his eyes and let his shoulders hang in absolute exasperation. “Does he look in any way bonded or controlled by me?”  
  
“No, Sherlock's been.. a really good friend. He's helped me a lot. I couldn't be a father today if he hadn't gotten me out of there.” John was still not looking at either of them and was now debating whether or not to wipe his eyes. He didn't want to show tears like he'd suffered the world's worst fate, but bringing his hand up would only draw attention to it. He decided to dab at his eyes the same moment a tear managed to escape. “Please don't tell anyone. If people knew-”  
  
“Of course I won't!” Greg stopped him mid-sentence, which was just as well because John didn't know how he wanted to end it anyway. “You still should have said something beforehand or at least realised putting you in there was a bad idea. I could lose my job over shit like this.”  
  
“I'm sorry Greg. I just wanted to help that little boy.” Thinking of himself and imagining his pups, John couldn't hold back any more and shielded his eyes with his hands, elbows resting on his thighs. Sherlock had been hovering by his side and now laid a hand on his shoulder. Light at first, as always asking for permission, then with a certainty, squeezing it briefly. John used the backs of his hands to wipe away the dampness on his cheeks, sniffling once. “I'm sorry, I never meant to get you in trouble.”  
  
“I know you didn't. But think it through next time, yeah?” John nodded and mouthed a 'thank you' at him. “Don't worry about it. Now, you two go home, we can take it from here. He's about ready to confess, I think. Anything else I need to know?” John shook his head at the floor. Sherlock shook his head more minutely at Greg. “Good, I'll see you around then. Take care you two.”  
  
Sherlock and John left the building wordlessly. The cab-ride home was just as silent. Sherlock looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn't quite work out the words. John ignored it and looked out of the window. It made him feel horrible and unfair toward Sherlock, but he couldn't bear the conversation right now.  
  


  
The court ruled Mr and Mrs Edwards guilty, of course, and John narrowly escaped a lawsuit thanks to Greg and Sherlock's combined arguments and a tiny bit of edging around the full truth to hide John's nature and bring the blame back on the couple. Tommy's Alpha parent achieved custody of both children.  
All seemed good, but drama never seemed to wait long for John.  
  
Sherlock was typing the results of his most recent experiment into his laptop. It was the last few steps that finally dragged him out of his concentration and when he looked up, there was a woman standing in their living room. Turning around, she found him in the kitchen and walked in with all the confidence in the world. She looked about his age, dirty blonde, short, slight figure and most definitely Alpha. He could smell it even through the strong perfume she was wearing.  
He raised an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”  
  
“Yes, does John Watson live here?” she asked in the tone of someone who is used to getting answers. Not unusual for Alphas, to be honest, but that did not make her sound any more polite to Sherlock.  
  
He gave her a quick scan, made mental notes of her divorce and her drinking. “That depends entirely on what you would want from him.”  
  
“I want to-” through the open door, they could hear someone entering the house with a key. That settled the cause. “-speak to him.”  
  
There was a lot of noise and for a while, too, as John came up the stairs, his five pups climbing them on wobbly legs and with a lot of help from their arms. Curiously, they still hadn't started walking, but their interest in stairs had increased significantly, which, to John, was both blessing and curse. He was just lucky they were unable to crawl out of their beds to attempt to get downstairs at night, since he was in the habit of keeping the door ajar, wanting to be woken by any possible suspicious noises, silly as that was in a flat in the middle of London, living with an Alpha in his prime.  
When John did finally make it to the top, the children started crawling off around the living room as the Omega took off his jacket. He stuck his head around the corner into the kitchen as he called out a greeting to Sherlock and froze. Five tiny humans picked up instantly on the change of mood in their purist parent and directed their attention back at him. “What are you doing here?” There was no joy of reunification in John's voice, no relief on his face. Sherlock was instantly alerted, standing down to leave the field to John, but ready to step in should their visitor get any ideas.  
  
The alpha woman smiled brightly, and falsely, as she forced him into a hug. Her eyes settled on the pups eyeing her with uncertainty. “So good to see you, John! Aw, these little ones must be yours, huh? They have your distrustful expression and all!” she said, half-joking.  
  
John stopped her entering the living room by pressing his palm square against her torso and it seemed to work. His breathing was getting louder and more controlled, which Sherlock knew to interpret very well, especially after the Edwards case. “You do not touch my children. Get out of this house.”  
  
“All due respect, I don't think this is your house and therefore I doubt you have the authority to kick me out.” Her smug voice spoke of a history of establishing hierarchy.  
  
Sherlock, thinking they'd had quite enough drama for the next few weeks and not liking people talking down at John, rose from his chair. “Well, I do. Get out of this house.”  
  
She turned around briefly to take him in again, looked back at John, then chuckled humourlessly. “Oh, I see,” now she spun around to face Sherlock properly, “you're _it_ now, are you? John's new babysitter?”  
  
“He's very capable of caring for his children by himself.”  
  
“Yeah, that's not what she meant, Sherlock.”  
  
The woman's smile became less and less pleasant. But maybe that was just Sherlock's very subjective perception of her. “I thought you were supposed to be super intelligent? Let's hope your detective skills are better than your people skills.”  
  
“Because you're clearly one to talk about people skills.” said John sarcastically.  
  
“Don't forget your place, John.” she replied, not turning to him, merely glancing over her shoulder, absolutely dismissive of his dignity.  
  
Sherlock did all he could to suppress a snarl and spoke in a forced, civilised tone. “You will leave right now on your own free will, unless you want me to force you, which I will inform you, I have every right to do.”  
  
“Fine. You haven't seen the last of me, however.” She inclined her head towards John again. Then she looked back at Sherlock with her last words. “I'm very persuasive.”  
  
They waited for her footsteps to disappear down the stairs and out the door. Their moods slowly returned to normal. “I take it you know her?” Sherlock asked in a voice that was much less impressive than the meaning behind the words.  
  
John rubbed at his temples with one hand. “Can we not talk about it or her, please?”  
  
“I fear we'll have to eventually. I have a suspicion she might plan to return eventually.”  
  
“Well,” John snapped, brushing past the Alpha to make himself tea, “I guess we can always deal with that when it comes to it.”  
  
Having had quite enough of suppressing his urges to comfort the stressed Omega over the last few weeks and being shut out by him continuously, Sherlock turned to him, back straightened to his full height. “Stop doing that. I don't know what you think we are to each other, but I deserve a little more than this, John. I have done nothing but treat you as an equal, which is not an invitation for you to treat me like anything less. God knows I don't care about all the Alphas you've fucked, but when they come into our home and start harassing you, and me, it becomes my business. Who was that woman?”  
  
John had paid him his full attention the moment he'd been accused of positioning Sherlock below him. Ten other eyes all focused on the tall Alpha. John looked like he was caught between feeling offended and wanting to crawl into a corner for having offended an Alpha. He stuttered his first words. “I- No. That was not... That,” he mulled the words over in his mouth, feeling ashamed and helpless; something he remembered all too well and didn't want to. “Please, don't.”  
  
Sherlock looked at John, who was staring at the kettle. He recognised that he may be stepping into some personal business that wasn't his to know about. He realised he was being unfair to the Omega and not giving him the respect he'd praised himself for before. The Alpha had to admit his pride had ridden the worry-wave hard just then, which didn't mean his concerns were unfounded. “Is she dangerous?”  
  
John, relieved Sherlock was ready to drop the subject, replied relatively easily to what seemed to be the most important question in the matter. “Not to me.”  
And with that vague statement, the conversation was readily dropped.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this chapter sitting almost finished for a couple weeks, but, having worked on it bit by bit and feeling unsatisfied by it, I changed some bits and especially then ending.
> 
> I suppose (most of) you will have guessed who their visitor was. If you don't, that's nothing to worry about either. Originally, I had John tell Sherlock, who replied with a very dry, funny line, but that just didn't work out for me or John. No worries. Things will become more clear.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter almost wrote itself, I'm a little stunned. I started two nights ago and here it just is..  
> I should probably give a little update: This is going to be reeeeaally slow burn for the Johnlock. More-so than I originally anticipated. I hope y'all still enjoy it and will continue with me down this road of "how much shit can we make them go through?"
> 
> I'm a horrible person.
> 
> You may also notice that I'm changing the formatting to make the chapters look nicer and easier to read. There may still occur hiccups, but I'm working to fix everything from chapter 1 onward. If anyone feels qualified to Beta things for me (which also entails getting to read chapters early and potentially discuss story elements and give immediate feedback to me), please hit me up via email (kinkmerighthererightnow@gmail.com) or on tumblr (http://kinkmerighthererightnow.tumblr.com/), where I don't check regularly, but I'll still see it in time :) I do have the conditions that you be mature and have good English skills - otherwise I could just beta myself, which I'm simply too lazy to do.
> 
> Now, enjoy the new chapter!

John had now been ignoring his phone for a week before the messages stopped coming. Even if he wanted the reunion and even if he was interested in giving anyone from his past a chance for redemption, he had neither time nor mind to spare on such things. He was glad to say he could indulge in being very tied in with work at the surgery and when he's not busy being a doctor, he's usually busy being a dad. If he still finds a minute of boredom despite these two jobs, he gets asked by Sherlock to accompany him on, mainly minor, cases, to... well, mainly to give his opinion, John guessed or at least to listen while Sherlock thought aloud. The past is best left inthe past in his humble opinion. Actually, he didn't even know how anyone beside Sherlock, Mycroft, Greg and a few people from work would have gotten his mobile number. Someone must have blabbed.

He took a paper-clip from Jacob's hand, stopping it on its tracks to an eager and curious mouth. “Not for eating,” he said calmly, shaking his head lightly, paper-clip well in sight. Jacob looked at it with great interest, his brain working through the new information. Rosie made a noise playing with her stuffed dog and promptly, Jacob had a new game to focus on. John got up and walked into the kitchen. “Hey, I know I can't ask you what to do and what not to do in your own flat, but could you give me a heads up about stuff like this laying around on the floor before I let the children loose? I.. don't fancy a cab ride to the ER for someone swallowing shit..”

Sherlock took the clip from John and inspected it. Then he flipped through some sheets of paper on the table with a frown on his face. “It must have fallen off... Huh, indeed, it was supposed to keep these together. My apologies, that was not on the floor on purpose.”

“As opposed to everything else you usually strategically place there?” John made there was no bite in his voice. Sherlock looked at him with such a soft grin, John thought it looked almost domestic. It was nice to think Sherlock might one day settle to be someone's Alpha and he thought he'd do a good job as well.

“Look in the freezer”

John's eyebrows drew together curiously as he braced himself for whatever madness Sherlock may have stored in there. To his great surprise, the only items not usually in there were some modified paper cups with plastic sticks standing erect in them. He grabbed one of the, now miniature, cups and peeked inside. “Are these...?”

“I had the foresight of knowing I'd have things to make up for.”

“So, you plan on bribing my children?” John joked, smelling the red popsicle.

“They're self-made. I figured you might prefer unsweetened, small portions.”

The Omega was seriously stunned into silence for a moment. He needed time to process this situation. Sherlock had had some time off lately, but John hadn't expected he fill his time with something like this. “That's really nice of you... But honestly, you don't need to do things like this. Even if you actually had something to apologise for.”

Sherlock turned back to his notes and scribbled something down. John took seven toddler-friendly ice lollies out, put one down next to Sherlock's papers and squeezed his arm on his way past. The Alpha waited for John to disappear around the corner into the living room before he freed the hardened fruit smoothie from it's paper wrapping. John, meanwhile, kneeled back down with the five toddlers, getting their attention easily and handing them the treats one by one. They were all the same colour, so there was no fighting over reds or greens; John guessed Sherlock just made one full smoothie and then spread it out among the self-made moulds. He'd cut the cups shorter and split down the side to tack them back together more tightly, creating small moulds, with flat tops for minimal risk and optimal portioning. John couldn't help his smile as he licked on his own ice lolly, his pups first watching, making sure this was edible, then focusing entirely on their new task. John thought it funny how they'd put toys, choking hazards and pointy things in their mouths without care, but looked to him to demonstrate food wasn't dangerous. Most of them were surprised by the cold, as they'd not had anything frozen before, but they seemed to enjoy the taste. Which their father could understand – they weren't too bitter, but also not overly sweet and really quite refreshing.  
“Mh, do you like them?” he asked the small group of toddlers. They nodded and Alex let out a euphoric “YESS!”  
John chuckled and spoke more quietly to them. “Sherlock made them for us. So, what are you going to do?”

For a few seconds, they stared at one another, waiting for someone intelligent to spoil the answer. Rosie and Emilia even stopped licking for a moment. Then Alex bounced excitedly as the trained response to being done a favour popped back into his mind. Kat followed suit and soon five tiny humans were scrambling up onto wobbly legs. John held their treats while they did a walking practice into the kitchen. When Jacob stumbled, they waited patiently for him to get back up. Feeling like he would be intruding on something quite important, John sat still and merely listened as the stampede came to a halt and five little voices spoke a little too loudly. They thanked Sherlock, and apparently rather generously, as it took a while before one after another, they tumbled back into the living room, taking their ice lollies back from their father. Judging from the noise, they insisted on giving Sherlock a hug each and since his legs were blocked by the table, he likely had to lift them. It was a sweet thought, really. John didn't know why exactly they always insisted on hugging while showing gratitude. Someone at the nursery must have taught them that, intentionally or not. They had always loved physical contact, so it was probably something they'd adapted easily. At least he was sure he hadn't always hugged while saying thanks in front of them. He wasn't bitter, though, he did adore this kind of behaviour and it meant they understood the concept of gratitude, even if they still didn't always have that immediate reaction.

Sitting back down, slurping away at their treats, Emilia tried persistently to get into his lap, pushing at his elbow where it rested on his thigh. “Alright, hold on Emmy. Take that out while moving around, you don't want to choke on it.” She popped the popsicle out of her mouth and then climbed onto his leg as soon as he moved his arm away. She leaned back to rest against him and he stabilised her with a hand around her waist. Then the chain reaction set into motion and the four other pups suddenly all wanted to cuddle, too. They made a race of it. Jacob was first to his other side and John chuckled as he quickly climbed onto his leg, his treat in his hand as was expected of him. Rosie, Alex and Kat gently pushed at John from either side, jealous and demanding of the same amount of love. He tried to tell them how to sit so everyone could cuddle up, but doing so with an ice lolly in hand and while being cautious not to knock anyone over only caused him to lose balance. He just managed to break his backward fall by flexing his muscles hard and spontaneously when the three un-cuddled pups saw their chance and quickly wriggled up on his belly, effectively pushing him to the floor after all. They were shifting around, trying to find good positions and John suddenly realised this wasn't as easy as it had been a year ago, when they had all been really tiny and light. Now, someone was pressing a knee into his bladder and a hand came mercilessly down on his chest. He moaned in mild pain and chuckled through it, shifting the toddlers' weights around so he could lay in relative comfort as well, rubbing at the sore flesh of his breast. He needed to take the binder off soon. It had started becoming worse as the pups slowly shifted from his milk to soft, mostly gooey and liquid food. He was still producing like their five lives depended on it, but could only feed once, maybe twice a day with it. The rest he tried to squeeze out in the shower to relieve the pressure, but that was still an unpleasant method. He thought maybe, since this was his first litter after many that he could actually breastfeed, his body was trying to make sure they were codependent of each other. Which was silly, as the pups would be depending of his care for a good number of years now either way, but who knew what biology really did just to keep a family together. He, at least, knew he wouldn't let them go no matter what and could well do without the aching chest. Then again, he didn't want to complain. He'd rather produce milk for the rest of his life than part with this litter prematurely. As the toddlers suckled on their treats, John slowly drifted into sleep.

 

When he next awoke, it was because of Sherlock shaking him lightly. He couldn't have been out for more than twenty minutes, he thought, but his children had crawled to another corner of the living room and were stacking bricks. John wondered since when there had been bricks in the house.

With a start he finally jerked awake properly, out of his trance and he apologised to Sherlock for his absent-mindedness. “That's alright, you've been very busy. I just wanted you to get off the floor. It's not the most healthy place to sleep.”

“No, I guess not.” he replied, sitting up with a good stretch. He saw Sherlock holding the sticks from the ice lollies and felt really horrible. The children could have choked on them and he'd just fallen asleep. And Sherlock was picking up after him. He cursed himself internally and looked down when he felt his shirt sticking to his body. “Ah, crap.” The pups, eating slowly, must have dripped their treats on him.

“Yes, that's why I came in here. Jacob cam to hand me his stick, so I figured you must have drifted off.” The Alpha reached out a hand to offer John help getting up.

“Sorry, I swear I'm not intentionally loading this on you. Wait, where's-” he twisted around, remembering his own popsicle and found a large stain on the carped close to where his head had been. “Shit, no!” He brought his hand against his forehead.

“John-”

“I'm so sorry, I'll try to get it out. Maybe Mrs Hudson knows a trick or something.” John was twisting back and used his hands to get up, but Sherlock softly held him in place and knelt before him.

“John. It's just a carpet.”

“No, seriously Sherlock, you need to stop making excuses for me. If I'm incapable of managing my life with a job and children, that should be my problem, not yours.”

Sherlock returned John's serious, but open look. It was still strange to the Omega to be treated so kindly. At least it didn't upset him any more; he didn't expect the one-eighty any more that would have him knocked out and his pups taken away. He was still unsure how to handle this at times. “But seriously, it's just a carpet.” The Alpha got back up and offered his hand once more. John took it. “Besides, I don't need to be harder on you; you need to be kinder to yourself. Five pups is a lot to take on alone.” He was walking into the kitchen to wash off the plastic sticks for re-use.

“I'm a purist, this should be really easy for me,” John said sheepishly as he followed the Alpha. “And they are purist pups, they should be easy to handle on top of that.”

Sherlock was focused on cleaning the sticks, but talked over the flow of hot water. “It's your first time and five are not the easiest beginner's pack. Personally, I think you are doing incredibly well. I know I couldn't do what you're doing currently.”

“Standing in the kitchen chatting with your alpha friend to avoid entertaining your pups and getting an imaginary pause from feeling responsible?” It was meant to be sarcastic, but it sounded rather scolding towards himself.

“No, as a parent, one is always responsible for their children, there's no doubt in that, but you aren't their clown. It's not your job to entertain them all waking hours, even beside daycare. Look at them now, they are perfectly content playing on their own. All you need to do is trust more in your instincts and tone down your alertness. Responsibility, yes, but you're being a little to tense about it. Allow yourself to relax a little, please.”

 

John tried to follow Sherlock's advice and take things a bit lighter. It helped, very slowly, to take the edge off and make him a little more relaxed in general. It was still obvious he wasn't exactly mastering life at the moment. It was approaching winter and the clinic was constantly brimming with patients. His pups hadn't caught a cold yet, but seeing as they were around other children half the day and playing outside, too, there, it was only a matter of time.

Sherlock grew more desperate to lend a hand as weeks passed and cases were rare, but he didn't know how to approach John. He couldn't figure out a way to suggest his aid without making it sound like John needed help, needed someone, was independent. He knew John didn't _need_ his help, he'd been managing for over a year now with Sherlock doing little more than paying the rent, providing basic things like money for clothing and food and occasionally feeding an early bird or waking John from unintended naps on the floor. Nevertheless, he wanted John to be healthy and happy and that meant he needed more time for himself. Of course, the Omega could work less at the surgery, but he didn't seem to want to and Sherlock wanted to be the absolute last person to ever suggest that, especially after what he knew of John's past, which, admittedly, he didn't think was a whole lot in relation to what was actually all there.  
Luckily, this problem decided to sort itself out. Kind of.

John called him at 1pm on a Wednesday. “Sherlock, I'm stuck in Essex. I've been sent out on a house call, but there's no trains going back to London for possibly another couple of hours. Something about a bomb that may or may not have been found on the line, I don't know, but I can't come home now.”

John sounded stressed, anxious, annoyed. Sherlock put on an extra calm demeanour. “Will I be able to take the pups out of daycare?”

The relief John felt was almost tangible through the phone. “You should be okay to. I'll call ahead, but I've set things up when I registered them. Just in case. Uh, don't forget your ID.”

“Of course not. Do you want me to send a taxi for you?”

“Seriously, Sherlock, I'm in Essex, I can't afford that.”

“That's not an issue, John.”

John hesitated as he listened to Sherlock getting ready to leave the house. He didn't want Sherlock to spend that kind of money on him, but the longer he had to wait for the trains to get back into service, the longer Sherlock would have to look after his children. “I'll leave that up to you. I'm okay waiting, but I'd understand if you didn't want to be alone with them for god knows how long.”

“Okay, let's say I'll call you in an hour. If you don't know any more by then, I'll send a cab to pick you up. Deal?” Not that Sherlock wouldn't want to be alone with them for more than two hours, but he also didn't want John to be stranded forever.

“Thank you so much, honestly.”

“That's quite alright.” He briefly laid the phone down close by a he put on his shoes. Then he had a thought and quickly picked it up again. “And, John. Get something to eat.”

The Omega chuckled. “I will.” There was a pause. “Thank you.”

“Not for this. I'll see you later.”

“Yeah, see you.” Sherlock hung up. John lowered the phone and took a deep breath. He was both relieved that his pups were going to be in good hands and a bit tense about not being able to see them and having someone else do his job for him. It couldn't be helped, however, so he went into the contacts and called the nursery.

 

Ten minutes later, he was queuing to pay a pre-made sandwich and a bottle of water from an in-station shop. Another five minutes later, he sat down in the chilly air at the platform, the seats in the waiting lounge all taken up. It was busy, the lack of service for London leaving a lot of people stranded. He heard a pair of teenagers curse the lack of updates they were getting and a mother talking to someone on the phone, trying desperately to calm her crying infant.  
He took a sip from his water before digging into hi sandwich. The lettuce was used quite meagrely and the cheese tasted mostly of chemicals, but it was food and it was cheap, so he wasn't going to complain much. It did make him think, however. He'd started putting aside chunks of hi earnings into a savings account. It wasn't much, but in a few years time, he might be able to afford renting a flat somewhere in the outskirts of London. Or register his children for sports clubs. He sighed. No matter how he laid it out, if he wanted a better future for his pups, he'd have to give up on any dreams of living independently or finally getting a driving permit. Then again, for them he'd give up the last of his dignity and pride. In a better world, he'd earn the same amount as his Alpha and Beta colleagues, have a supportive partner and be eating fucking proper food. In a better world, he wouldn't be a purist. In a better world he'd be doing something nice to thank Sherlock for all his help.

In a lesser world, an attractive alpha woman wouldn't sit down next to him. “You look gloomy,” she said cheerily. Her voice was soft but confident. He took a liking to it instantly.

“Well, life isn't all sunshine, is it?”

“That's fair. You're waiting to get to London as well, then?”

“Yeah, I was meant to be picking up my kids about now... A friend's going to look after them for me, but, you know.”

“You miss the little buggers.” She sounded like she knew this problem all too well. John nodded along, taking another sip of water. The woman took out a pack of cigarettes and offered it to John. He declined, but said nothing against her smoking. “You should give it a try some day,” she said, putting one between her lips and lighting it, “can do real wonders to lower stress.”

“Never worked for me, to be honest. Uni was still plenty stress.”

“What'd you study?”

“Medicine.”

“Yvonne, actually.” He looked at her in confusion for a moment before getting the joke.

He rolled his eyes, unable to suppress a grin. “Clever.”

She smirked proudly. “I was afraid you'd say something like economics. So what's your name, Mr Doctor?”

“It's John. How d'you know I graduated?”

She took and released a drag from her cigarette, shaking her head fondly. “You have the looks of an accomplished person.” He laughed in flattered uncertainty. “So you're a doctor and a father, huh? But a friend is taking care of your children for you... your partner die?”

“What? No! No, I uh. No partner. Single Omega.”

“Hm, sounds like somebody missed their chance..” She was flirting. She was flirting and John didn't know what to do. It had been a good while for him and he wasn't sure he wanted anything like this at the moment.

But Yvonne was charming and pretty and he liked the smell of her pheromones. “Maybe, heh. Don't know that I'm much of a catch.”

“Why, because you're a middle-aged gorgeous Omega doctor slash single father and absolute DILF, if you don't mind the directness?”

“Uh, no I was rather thinking because I break a sweat easily and have a tendency for bad morning breath.” He threw her a cheeky smile and saw that it worked instantly. “But thanks for the warning, I'll know not to seek you out alone at night.”

“How about I take you out to dinner next week. That is, if that friend of yours doesn't mind watching your pups a few hours while you ingest some Greek specialities?”

John smiled, but his expression became apologetic shortly after that sentence. “I'd seriously hate to ask him that, but I'd be happy to do something at yours if I could bring them along?”

“Hm, suits me just fine.” She was about to say something else, but her phone interrupted her train of thoughts. She answered the call. “Yes? Uh-huh. Fine, yeah. Yeah, I'll be right on my way. Tell them 20 minutes.” She hung up. “Sorry, work calls. I've actually been scheduled another meeting _very_ spontaneously, it seems. Here,” she pulled out a business card and handed it to John, “my number's on there. Give me a ring once you know when to have that dinner and babysitting evening.” She winked and got up.

John watched her leave the platform, then turned back to the card. Apparently she was an editor with an office in central London. He was still not entirely sure he wanted to go for this, but his curiosity was peaked. God knewhe was longing for some human contact and he'd not say no to some good sex. That was surely in it, if nothing else. He put the card into his wallet and drank the rest of his water. He was an adult, he could meet up with someone to have a shag, didn't mean they'd have to get involved romantically. Didn't mean he was signing over his soul to the devil. He'd just have to pick a time where the pups would be asleep and Mrs Hudson would probably not mind watching them a night.

He looked at his watch, feeling the warmth in his cheeks. Sherlock would call him in fifteen minutes and no new information had been given on services for London. He almost felt confident enough to just ask for a taxi. Almost.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you didn't get the "Medicine" joke (which I realise is a bit difficult to get in written form): "Medicine" can sound like "Madison" in a couple of accents.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's been sitting patiently for about a week now, but I didn't want to post too soon as I expect the next chapter might be a while again, sorry.
> 
> Big thanks, however, to my new and lovely beta Rae (Razr4011)! I am honestly so grateful ♥

“You sure you're okay looking after them tonight?” John zipped up his jacket to shield himself against the cold outside, but stood locked in place as he watched Sherlock put Kat's sock back on her foot. Again.

 

“Yes,” he said with a lot of patience that John admired. He'd put that sock on five times already and judging by the rebellious grin on the girl's face, this wouldn't be the last time that night. “You go and... have sex.” There was some slight irritation both in Sherlock's voice and expression as he put the pup back on her feet.

 

“You know, we're not meeting up to shag.” John had an adoring smile on his face that Sherlock obviously didn't much like.

 

He rolled his eyes and sighed deeply. “Honestly, I don't care what you do with... Iva?”

 

“Yvonne.”

 

“Yes, her,” he waved a hand dismissively. He was in the midst of taking up some other action, but spun back around abruptly. “The how many-nth time's this anyway? Sixth?”

 

“Fifth, actually. Why, does it bother you?” He stood, hands on his hips, ready to head out and not understanding of Sherlock's jealousy. John didn't have many friends and neither did Sherlock, so he guessed the Alpha just didn't like sharing. To be fair, John wasn't too different in that regard.

 

Sherlock looked very confused at the question and John wasn't entirely convinced it wasn't fake. “No, why would it? Anyway, do you plan to introduce her to this lot some day or are you just going to hide them and run away one day?”

 

The Omega knew it was a stab, but he had always been bad at not defending himself. “She knows about them, they were one of the first things I brought up with her, in fact. She's asked to meet them, but I don't want to take them out the house overnight just yet and for some reason I'm a bit reluctant to bring her here.”

 

Sherlock looked beyond offended and outright hurt by John's telling look at him, so it didn't come as a big surprise when his reply was more a quip than anything else. “Well, if I embarrass you-”

 

“Good night, Sherlock,” John quickly shut him down, then kneeled and waved a kiss at his children. “Good night again, loves!” Rosie clapped her palm to her mouth and then waved it enthusiastically at her papa, causing her to lose balance and fall over. She looked at his face, where he was putting on a thick thick layer of amused surprised and giggled in response to it, getting back up with the help of her arms. Her four siblings all chuckled fondly and waddled all around the living room in search of fun games to play.

 

John ducked out of the flat and down the stairs. He walked down to the tube and got in with a heavy feeling in his chest. His journey wasn't very long as Yvonne lived close to her office, so he was quick to send a text thanking Sherlock for his continued help as soon as he got reception again. He wasn't surprised when no answer came. Usually, the Alpha replied within minutes to text messages, but John had observed he usually took between quarter to half an hour to answer when he was watching the pups for him. It was kind of sweet, he thought, that Sherlock was so committed to them, especially after the fuss he initially made over not wanting to have anything to do with them and since they weren't, in any way, his. Now it seemed he was just yearning for a chance to spend time with them when he wasn't on a case, which seemed to mean John couldn't be around or needed to at least be napping. He'd worry about Sherlock doing fishy things, but the pups loved him. They wouldn't be so easy around him if he did anything, so John figured he just didn't want to be seen being social and soft.

He was glad he could have a free mind some nights and take care of his own social life. He was hoping to maybe build a functioning family for his children to grow up in, with opportunities and relaxed parents. He wouldn't be able to without the help from Sherlock.

 

“Hey darling!” Yvonne greeted him in a very elegant green blouse that framed her body enticingly, but not without a whole lot of class. Her short black, curly bob hair cut accentuated her cheekbones. John thought her a stunning woman every time he saw her.

 

He kissed her cheek fondly. “How're you doing?”

 

“Very good, thanks, come on in. Do you like my blouse?” she asked playfully, shaking her shoulders as she walked backwards.

 

“I do. It looks very good on you!” He reached out to feel the material on one of the sleeves. It seemed expensive.

 

“I bought it for you, actually. I thought it would complement your eyes.”

 

John's eyebrows drew together and he smiled suspiciously. “I have blue eyes... Are you dating another Omega?”

 

He was joking, she didn't seem the kind, but her face fell. Then she leaned in closely. “I could have sworn they were green!” John chuckled and turned his face to the light for her to see better. “Damn, they _are_ blue...”

 

“Probably that lighting in your bedroom – told you it has a weird tint to it!”

 

“Oh, you wanna go see right now? I mean I can hardly wear this thing now, can I? Might as well get it off.”

 

John laughed properly now and brushed past her to hang up his jacket and take off his shoes. “Keep it in those naughtily tight trousers for now, will you?”

 

“If memory serves me right, it was you who said, on our first date, and I quote 'I was considering just calling and asking for a quickie.'”

 

“Oh, I did not say 'quickie'!”

 

Yvonne approached him, hands settling on his hips. “That's right, I tried to paint you innocent there. You wanted 'a night full of hot, passionate, wild shagging!'”

 

They chuckled in choir now, faces close. “I didn't say that either. Though I did think it.” He whispered the last bit and closed in.

 

She kissed him back readily, speaking when they broke apart. “I never thought I'd be outrun by an Omega! Your libido is more active than any of my alpha mates!”

 

“Oh, you guys talk about that a lot, do you?”

 

“Sometimes,” she said with a shrug. “Come on, I put a lot of effort into dinner, I'm not letting that go to waste.” She grabbed his hand and led him into the kitchen.

 

“Yeah, be a shame to skip right to desert.” He took the glasses and wine she handed him with a smirk.

 

 

“Twenty-nine, Thirty! Ready or not, here I come!” Sherlock announced to the empty flat. Only it wasn't empty. Five miniature people were hiding on this floor. He turned away from the door, shut so no one could waddle out and fall down any stairs, and pretended he hadn't heard someone shuffling underneath the sofa. “Hmm, where could they be...?” he wondered a little too loudly, walking into the middle of the room to look under the desk. Giggles emerged from the couch. Normally, that'd be fair game, but he did say this was the last round before bed, so he'd draw it out just a bit. He tip-toed towards the large windows, curtains drawn at this time, and quickly pulled the fabric away as if to jump someone, but nobody was hiding there. “Hmm,” he voiced again turned around. He ducked around both armchairs and stopped when his eyes 'coincidentally' landed on the space under the sofa, where Jacob was chuckling rather loudly at his little show. He could hear the toddler clap both hands to his mouth, but they both knew he'd been found out. Sherlock got on all fours and crawled over until Jacob couldn't deny any more that he had lost. He laughed heartily as he emerged from his hiding place and fell right into Sherlock's arms. “You scared me a little! I thought the sofa was laughing at me!” he joked and Jacob knew he was being silly.

 

He shook his head with a wide grin on his face. “No!” he chuckled as Sherlock stood again and held his hand. “I help you!”

 

“Of course! Do you have any ideas?” He watched the little boy think for a moment before letting him walk off. He followed him one step for every five of the toddler's. They went straight into the kitchen and Jacob saw Kat straight away, laying flat on the chairs under the table.

 

She let out an exaggerated sigh but smiled brightly when Sherlock helped her out of her hiding place. Apparently getting there had been easier. “Me too, Shellock!” she demanded excitedly, holding up her arms.

 

He picked her up dutifully. “Yes, you help, too, “ he agreed. Kat liked having an overview from a higher position when helping look for the others. While Jacob toddled around between rooms, looking everywhere twice until he found Emmy behind the curtain of the other window in the living room, Kat pointed him to where he should look. He opened a cupboard, another cupboard, then the first cupboard again, before they discovered Alex hiding in the third one. All four were engaged in searching for Rosie, who turned out to have been on the couch all along, the thin throw blanket draped over her as disguise. As soon as everyone was found, they turned around to Sherlock, who put Kat back down on level with the rest. “Well, off to the bathroom then everyone!” Emilia made a disapproving noise. “No, we had an agreement. Come on,” he said gently, leading the way with Alex clinging to his hand. He handed four of them wash cloths and brushed their teeth one pup at a time while the others cleaned their faces and washed their hands in a little tub filled with soapy water. Diapers were changed and then they were off to Sherlock's bedroom. This was their favourite part, he had a feeling: getting to sleep in another bedroom than their father's. All their beds had been set up in here and Sherlock helped them inside. They kissed his cheeks goodnight and he draped their blankets over their little bodies. At last he sat down on the edge of his bed and reached for one of the books John had given him. “Which one would you like to hear?”

 

“Bunny!” said Rosie and Alex loudly.

 

“Everyone else okay with that?” he asked, selecting the book. Emmy agreed, the other two nodded, unaware Sherlock couldn't see that, but he knew either way and started reading a page prior to where John had apparently left it off.

 

 

 

“You're leaving already?”

 

John twisted his upper body and pulled his sock up the rest of the way. She looked as sleepy as she sounded. “Well, you know, I trust Sherlock and all, but I do have to get back to my children. I also miss them.”

 

Yvonne grinned knowingly at him, reached out and stroked down his arm. “You give 'em my best, yeah?” She waited while John answered in silence, nodding once with a smile. “Will I ever meet them?”

 

“I don't... Not for nothing, but I don't feel good about taking them to someone else's. They're still so small and they've started a phase where they're wary of strange adults..”

 

Yvonne bit back on a comment. “Well, I could come 'round to your place? I'm sure Sherlock isn't _that_ bad.”

 

John made a noise that sounded like a vague answer if any. “I just don't think-,” he made a pause and pursed his lips. “I'll get back to you on this, okay?”

 

“Yeah, sure. You know best.” John moved to stand, but she grabbed his wrist. “You're being honest with me, right? I like you, and if this relationship is one-sided, I want to know.”

 

John leaned back and kissed her. “You worry too much. I'll call you, yeah?”

 

He was too tired to really focus on much on his way home. The best he could do was look forward to getting back to his pups, which was pretty much a given at any time any way. Part of him was envious of Sherlock, having spent another evening with them. He bet they'd played games, like Cluedo, and that they love Sherlock and think their papa is lame. And if they were old enough to to have these thoughts, they'd pity him for being incredibly pathetic and insecure. Or maybe that was just himself.

He watched his face in the window panel of the door as the tunnel flew by. Yes. He was definitely pathetic.

He was pathetic because when he entered the flat, there was a lot of stomping and five little humans scrambled up from their circle around Jacklyn the Bear, a scene that John wasn't sure he wanted an explanation for. There were hugs and kisses and he didn't know how he could ever doubt their love for him. “Did you have fun last night?”

 

“We pway hide an seek!” piped Rosie happily.

 

Emmy bounced excitedly. “I had a good hiding..ing spot!”

 

“That's great. Sounds like it was a successful evening for you. And did you treat Sherlock nicely, too?”

 

“Nnnnnoo? No!”

 

“No?” John chuckled at Alex's proud rebellion. “Oh, dear. You know we still need him, right? Papa can't afford to pay rent _and_ entertain all you little terrors,” he said half-jokingly and catching Sherlock sitting on the sofa from the corner of his eye for a short second. “Why don't you get back to Jacklyn and I'll join you soon?”

He watched them toddle off and stood to hang up his jacket before approaching Sherlock. “Were they alright?”

 

“Yes, nothing happened, no one got hurt.” John smiled and was about to say something, but swallowed it back down. Sherlock wanted to say 'you know I love them', but that just sounded creepy to himself, so he shouldn't mention it to their father. “They slept very tightly, and ate their breakfast without a fuss.”

 

“Huh, looks like you've got them perfectly under control.” John plopped down beside the Alpha and watched the children as they turned the plushy to face them as they talked to it about something to do with ...pudding? “Really, I'm grateful to you for helping like this. I know this isn't what you wanted when you took me in.”

 

“Well, things have changed. I can't say I'm unhappy about that.”

 

John saw him watch the pups with an oddly calm expression. He looked at them himself and felt very in place in this room and company. “They do like you.” It sounded mushy, but it needed saying. Sherlock deserved the credit.

 

John had forgotten Sherlock wasn't good with sentiments, especially in his favour. “And... I like them. I hope that doesn't make me sound like a paedophile.” They narrowed their eyes at each other after that statement.

 

“Are you... a paedophile?” John asked jokingly.

 

“Why would I be sexually attracted to small, inexperienced, innocent, unknowing, un-consenting children?”

 

“I... think _that_ is what makes them attracted to them.”

 

There was a break in which neither really knew what to make of this exchange. “I don't get it.”

 

“Yeah, I'm really glad neither of us does.”

 

“So,” Sherlock restarted the conversation, feeling too uncomfortable in the awkwardness that had been the previous topic, “how was... your girlfriend?”

 

Sherlock sounded displeased and slightly disgusted. John couldn't help the grin stretching his lips wide. “Yvonne is fine.” Now his demeanour changed quickly into something more muted. “Though maybe a little disappointed in me.”

 

“... Oh? That won't do. What happened?”

 

“Well, for me she moves a bit too fast. For her, I move too slowly.” he sighed, knowing he'd have to be more specific, but not wanting to go into more detail. “She wants to meet them. They don't want to meet anybody.”

 

“They're in a stage where they're wary of strange adults?” Sherlock sounded like he was quoting something John had said, but the Omega had no memory of ever saying such a thing. He looked at the Alpha with creased eyebrows and a skeptic question on his face. “You don't think _you_ might be the one teaching them that?” The answer was not what John wanted to hear, that was easy to tell by his affronted expression. “I feel like you're about to stir up a fight over this, so I'm willing to just drop it.”

 

John, still stirred by the accusation of possible bad parenting - or perhaps rather clinging to his pups a bit too much – was dancing between saying something mean and being surprised by Sherlock backing down. “ _You_ 'd back down on your point to avoid conflict? This doesn't sound like you.”

 

“I don't intend to fight with you in front of your children.”

 

“Because it could harm your reputation among them?” There was a joke in there somewhere, only it sounded like a few other things. Jealousy, for one. Anger for another.

 

After some moments of silence, the Alpha made a stronger attempt to drop the tone of this conversation.“Would you like tea?”

 

And was luckily met with compliance. “Yes, I would. Thank you.”

 

Through the day, John spent a lot of time playing and teaching, cooking and caring. He loved Sundays because not only was it the second day he got off from work, but the daycare was closed and he had to keep the kids home. It terrified him, but in a way, that helped. Sherlock had no excuse to leave the flat either, so it was a very domestic day that John couldn't describe as anything other than relaxing. Seeing his pups play all around the living room, with Sherlock being dragged into games far more often than John would expect the Alpha to tolerate, gave him a certain sense of family. This calmed him at first, but then made him remember that they weren't family, at least in that sense. Sherlock was his friend. His girlfriend was a few blocks away, and she didn't even know his children. They had only John, no other parent, and even he wasn't always there for them. Part of him wished he could just declare Sherlock their second guardian. He was so good with them and made it seem so easy, it was a pity he didn't want a family of his own. John thought he'd make for an excellent father. Then again, John didn't have any proper reference for good parents and was probably not qualified to make such assessments. There was an uncomfortable longing bubbling up in John, that he knew not to hold onto because it was founded upon a utopian idea that was unhealthy to expect from anyone ever.

 

John was mildly jealous when, in the evening, the pups insisted on wanting to sleep downstairs another night. When he asked why, there was no satisfying answer, as one might expect from a group of one-year-olds. Sherlock shrugged and said he didn't mind and that their beds were still in his bedroom anyway, so John finally agreed.

Later, he was grateful for it as he lay awake with arousal. He reached down and slipped his hand inside his boxers, trailing it along the inside of his thigh to rub against his entrance. With two fingers he spread the wetness around the ring of muscles and dipped in, with just the tips at first, savouring the sense of teasing for a moment before pushing them in up to the knuckles. For a while he was undulating against these two fingers, but once he was sufficiently aroused for his fantasy to kick in and supply romanticised memories of sex, he pushed in two more fingers and imagined another body moving in rhythm with him. He could feel the heat, hear the breaths and was surprisingly fast to climax.

With his clean hand he reached for a tissue from his bedside table and cleaned himself up, then rolled onto his side, dragged his blanket up to his chin and tried to battle his own conscience. His girlfriend lived a few streets away and here he was, having just masturbated and not with her in mind. He felt bad and that he was treating her unfairly. He closed his eyes against the voices in his head and the emotions they stirred in him. He'd have to tell her tomorrow.

 


End file.
